/•trft'f.tfa   f/l  f   Af>t»f>Hi-\f&    •tf.fSIWs 

ft  f     //>  r-     itur  ft'fffft*'  *tj    /if  t~,ffr 


frjfft'f/tf  ..r-f-'i*-r.»ttf>-ti,tt/ 


/>>/,„.>, ,,././,, 


Belated  but  Enthusiastic  on  Miss  Holt, 

Miss  Isabella  Holt's  "  The  Marriotts  and  the  Powells  -  Is  a  really  good 
first  novel,  because  it  has  a  quality  which  Is  rare  In  American  fiction  and 
because  Its  faults  ar«  fault*  which  Miss  Holt  will  outgrow.  It  has 
leisure.  I  do  not  mean  that  the  characters  are  men  and  women  who  are 
not  hurried  and  harried,  bat  that  the  author  somehow  has  got  Into  her  book  a 
feeling  that  she  has  taken  time  to  think  thing*  out. 
The  book  is  not  fortuitous — except  at  the  end.  Its 
very  previous  charm  makes  the  ending,  and  the  few 
chapters  after  the  boys  go  off  to  war  betray  haste, 
•is  though  Miss  Holt  had  suddenly  gone  cold  toward 
tier  book  end  wanted  to  be  quit  of  it.  Tlfat  Is  Its 
principal  fault,  and  one  which  is  evident  In  many  a 
llrst  noveL 

"  The  Marriotts  and  the  Powells  *  is  a  story  of  a 
conglomerate  family  group  of  Chlcagoan*.  It  is  told 
simply,  with  sophistication,  with  kindliness,  with  a 
point  of  view,  and  with  mental  leisure.  It  is  not  a 
negligible  novel.  Miss  Holt  has  a  literary  future. 
*  * 

K  -       — '  - 


SOOIKTV    AT     HOSTE    AN»    ABROAD. 


To-IHir    of    BflM    It*  bell* 
Holt  and  Haldeman  Kinnle, 

BY  HELEN  WETHRELL. 

Standing  with  the  dignity  of  age  among 
the  modern  residences  In  Lake  Forest  Is 
the  attractive,  rambling  Holt  homestead 
that  was  built  before  the  civil  war.  It 
baa  sheltered  three  generations  of  Holts. 
Its  rich  store  of  memories  will  be  en- 
hanced wnen  relatives  and  friends  gather 
late  this  afternoon  at  a  reception  follow- 
ing the  wedding  of  Miss  Isabella  Holt, 
daughter  of  Mrs.  Charles  8.  Holt  of  Belle-  ! 
place,  to  HUdeman  Flnnle  of  De- 
troit at  4  o'clock  at  the  Lake  Forest 
Presbyterian  church. 

Mlas  Marian  Holt,  a  sister,  Is  maid  of 
>onor,  and  the  bridesmaids  are  Mrs  B 
x  Rafter  of  Waahlngton,  Miss  Dorothy 

e  ey  .whose   engagement   to   Oranham 
announced,    and    Miss 


A  n,  '  8     ««»«•«      tO 

Aim.  Millet;   Miss  Janet  Pauling    and  a 
£'m-1°-la--    Mrs.    O.    McPherson   Holt 

nk     biff  '  We"8  *  S<mn 

Md   t 


n  «,,non  or  «  deeper  shade  of  pink     All 


bride's   first 
'out  Chrlatmas   ti 
Ie  among  her  m        '     ll   naa  * 
A/»  Xn*  many  friends  and 

ZSSSKZSLKS*-- 

ceptlon.  has   kent   on       • *  after  lt8  »- 
tlon.  J  wl°n'ng  apprecla- 


A  CHARMING  BRIDE  OF  LAKE  FOREST. 


MISS  ISABELLA  HOLT,  DAUGHTER  OF  MRS.  CHARLES  S.'  HOLT 
WHOSE  MARRIAGE  TO  HALDEMAN  FINNIE  OF  LAKE  FORES'] 
TAKES  PLACE  THIS  AFTERNOON. 

[By  Moffott.] 


M™INGS"feuMifH 


ON  NORTH  SHORE 
DRAWSOCIETY 


T0 


Miss  Thompson  and  Miss 

:       Holt  Are  Brides.       Won't  Head  Comm.ss.on 

Politicians  Hear. 


Society  journeyed  to  the  north  shore 
yesterday  afternoon  for  two  weddings, 
'one  in  Lake  Forest  and  the  other  in 
:\Vlnnetka. 

i  Miss  Isabella  Holt,  daughter  of  Mrs. 
'Charles  S.  Holt  of  38  Bellevue  place, 
was  married  to  Haldeman  Finnic  of 
Detroit  at  4  o'clock  in  the  Lake  Forest 
Presbyterian  church.  The  church  was 
Idecoratecl  with  Easter  lilies  and  lighted 
tapers.  The  Rev.  George  Roberta  read 
the  tirvice.  The  bride,  one  of  the  best 
known  young  women  in  society,  not 
only  as  an-  artist  and  a  novelist,  but 
as  a  former  president  of  the  Junior 
Jeague,  wore  a  gown  of  rose  point  lace 
•with  a  court  train  of  white  satin.  Her 
tulle  veil  was  held  in  place  wi£h  a 
wreath  of  orange  blossoms.  She 
carried  white  lilies. 

Attendants  in  Coral  Chiffon. 

The  attendants.  Miss  Marion  Holt, 
ii  sister  of  the  bride,  Miss  %  Dorothy 
jKeeley.  Miss  Elizabeth  Farwell,  Miss 
(  Janet  Pauling  and  Mrs.  Case  B.  Raster 
*of  "Washington,  D.  C..  wore  coral  and 
2  flame  chiffon  go\vns«with  beige  horse- 
,  hair  hats.  They  carried  bouquets  of 

.;  tUllp3. 

j  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Finnie  will  be  at  home 
,  after  June  1  at  2176  Field  avenue,  De- 
» troit.  The  wedding  reception  was  held 
!at  the  residence  of  tv«  bride's  aunt, 
"Miss  Ellen  Holt,  in  Lake  Forest. 


BY   E.   O.  PHILLIPS. 

Springfield,  111.,  April  22.-[Special.] 
-The  resignation  of  Frank  L.  S 
as  chairman  of  the  Illinois  commerc. 
commission   and   a   definite   break 
tween  Col.   Smith's  downstate  friends 
and  the  Chicago  city  hall  machine  ap- 
pear   to    be    a    practical    certainty    ii 
Illinois  Republican  politics. 

When  he  quits-a*  his  best  friends 
and   advisers   say   that   he   will- 
probable  that  Col.   Smith  will  become 
a  candidate  for  the  Republican  nomina- 
tion   for    governor    in    the    April    pn- 

All  of  the  developments  yesterday  in 
the  Republican  .t*^  convention  led  to 


THE    MARRIOTTS 

AND 

THE    POWELLS 


A   TRIBAL  CHRONICLE 


BY 

ISABELLA  HOLT 


Apropos  of    <-.    , 

'Uatory  ,.  " 

novel.  - 

veils."  written  . 

•    rtiv,,    - 


jfteto 

THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 
1921 


All  right, 


ter^ 

f    haa  ar 

any  -V        } 
well    *^ 
no\ 

nir 
sh. 

Jn,     •  ^ 


u«  .-r,  even  If 
•>  Detroit  ow- 

a    P^troi'er. 


«WNTBD  IN  THE  UNITED  STATES  OP  AMEBIOA 


Holt's  Novel  of  Chicago. 


TliE    MAftR/OTTS    AND   TIIK    l'OW"r.r.?      F-T  , 
.    Isabella   Ho!'..    .Ma<Mn!t!:.ii. 

AST'tRY   of  Chicago,   without  a  word  j 
about  the   stockyard-?,  the   board   of  j 
trade:    or      th?     housing     problem; 
i  without    a    reference    to    ine    smoke   nui- 
|  .-"finoe.    traction    difficulties    or  .a    corrupt 
!  machine;  and  yet.  unmistakably. 
a   rhicrtgo   «lory    because    the   characters 
are  unmistakably  Chicago  oeople— a  defi. 
'nite    if  somewhat   limited   group   of  Chi- 
cagoiuis   who   live   on.   or  near,   the   Lake 
Shore    drive    in    whiter    and    spend    their 
Mummers  in   Lake  Forest. 

It.    is   the   chronicle   of   their   social,   in- 

Br  THE  M; 
Set  up  and  printe 


Prc 

J.  Little  A 
New  Yori 


cathert  Y..-ry  Poveil.  a  shifty  financier 
with  an  inexhaustible  fund  of  misplaced 
optimism,  a  disarming  knowledge  of  his 
own  frailties  and  an  u.Uer  lark  of  what 
are  generally  known  a.^  .the  "liner  sensi- 
bilities." 

:  The  Marriotts  hacl  money.  Tiie  few- 
'ells,  as  might  be  expficted  from  evfn  this 
brief  summary  of  Vesey's  peculiarities, 
had  none  for  only  so  much  as  was  pro- 
vided from  time  to  time  by  I.  ride  Kdgar 
aud  Uncle  Tolmaa  Marriott),  and  tee- 
tered continuously  on  the.  edge  of  bank- 
ruptcy and  disgrace,  supplying  the  plot 
with  an  eleiceni  of  uncertainty  it  would 
otherwise  lack. 

The  story  begins  on  .\ien,;> 
1905,  with  the  entire  cast  of  characters 
gathered  on  the  red-carpeted  front  steps 
of  old  Joshua  Marriott's  mansion  In 
Michigan  boulevard,  near  18th  sir  e  ,  to 
watch  Uncle  Joshua  march  in  the  purnde. 
and  to  partake  of  strawberry  ice  i  ream 
and  coconut  cake.  Prom  his  armchair 
on  the  porch  Edgar  Marriott,  broken  in 
health  and  ambition  aud  given  to  read- 
ing, philosophizing  and  ini el-eating  him- 
self in  the  lives  of  his  ynun?  relatives, 
watches  the  next  generation  of  Marriotts 
and  Powells  on  the  stops.  From  that 
time  on  the  story  grows  with  the  deveH 
opmeut  of  these  children  into  men  and 
women,  a  deveiopintnt  in  which  Uncle 
Kd^ar  plays  so  kindly  and  shrewd  a  part 
Uiat  for  aluio«t  the  first  time  since  Peter 
Pan  \ve  do  believe  in  fairies— fairy  god- 
fathers, at  .least.  H  amuses  him  to 
imagine  himself  claying  at  chess  with 
the  Almighty,  using  his  eon  and 
nephews  and  nieces  as.  chessmen,  lie 
tries  to  teach  them  to  be  "honest,  gen- 
erous, brave  s^nd  loyal,"  and  succeeds  so 
well  thut,  though  "Di  lacked  courage, 
Mat  lacked  honesty  and  Vim  failel  once 
in  loyalty."  they  are  a.  marked  and  shin- 
ing contrast  to  most  cf  the  young  folks 
one  read*  about  to-day  in  that  they  are. 
on  the  whole,  happy,  useful  and  sane 


THE  MARRIOTTS 

AND 

THE  POWELLS 


2055986 


PART  I 


THE  good  Rhoda,  who  had  been  so  long  a  fixture  in 
Joshua  Marriott's  household  as  to  have  identified  herself 
with  its  tradition, — and  to  whom  indeed  might  have  been 
traced  some  of  its  characteristic  peculiarities, — was  a  little 
early  with  her  tray  of  refreshments ;  and  while  waiting  for 
the  end  of  the  parade  to  pass,  she  amused  herself  by  eye- 
ing through  the  screen  door  certain  previously  uncon- 
sidered  offshoots  of  the  family  stock  who  now  shared,  as  to 
the  manner  born,  the  honors  of  the  porch  and  steps  with 
the  authentic  Marriotts.  It  is  much  to  ask  of  an  elderly 
Irish  woman  that  she  should  in  one  hour  enlarge  her  feudal 
allegiance  to  twice  its  capacity ;  but  Joshua  had  bade  her 
attend  on  the  Powells  as  his  kinsfolk,  and  she  was  well- 
disposed. 

It  was  Decoration  Day  in  1905. 

Tolman  Marriott  and  his  wife  and  children  had  been 
accustomed  for  years  to  driving  over  and  making  a  family 
ceremony  of  the  day,  so  that  all  its  details  had  a  ritual 
validity ;  they  had  anticipated  the  usual  afternoon  passed 
on  the  front  steps,  watching  the  parade,  the  usual  crowds 
below,  the  usual  ice-cream,  and  the  usual  well-being  not 
very  different  from  lethargy.  The  introduction  into  the 
circle  of  a  handful  of  unknown  cousins,  however,  had  dis- 
turbed the  unity  of  the  current  of  feeling :  and  though  the 
adult  generation  had  by  the  middle  of  the  afternoon  estab- 
lished easy  relations  between  their  rocking-chairs,  among 
the  children  on  the  steps  below,  the  discerning  eye  could 
still  separate  two  trends  of  energy. 


2      THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS 

Joshua  Marriott's  house  on  Michigan  Avenue  was  a 
landmark  pointed  out  by  the  megaphonic  young  men  who 
conducted  sight-seeing  trips  around  Chicago,  though  its 
architecture  had  become  a  trifle  demoded  of  late  years. 
It  stood  on  its  own  lawns,  darkly  florid  with  bastions, 
crenellations,  turrets  and  stained-glass  windows ;  it  was 
built  of  gray  rusticated  masonry,  and  the  porch  was 
masked  by  low-browed  Romanesque  arches.  To-day  the 
staff  extended  from  a  third-story  window,  and  Joshua  him- 
self had  hung  out  the  vast  flag,  which  now  swayed  across 
the  fafade.  A  red  rug  spread  upon  the  steps  was  scat- 
tered with  Joshua  Marriott's  grandchildren,  grand- 
nephews  and  nieces ;  and  in  the  shadowed  porch  was  gath- 
ered a  middle-aged  group,  whose  high-light  was  formed 
by  the  white  waistcoat  and  the  watch-chain  of  Tolman 
Marriott. 

This  excellent  man  stood  with  his  legs  apart,  jingling 
the  loose  coin  in  his  pockets,  and  listening  with  absent 
good-nature  to  the  business  conversation  of  F.  Vesey 
Powell.  The  group  suggested  to  Tolman's  brother  Edgar, 
who  had  formed  through  invalid  years  the  habit  of  looking 
acutely  at  the  world  from  an  easy-chair,  the  colloquy  of  a 
mastiff  and  a  weasel. 

Not  to  put  too  fine  a  point  on  a  fact,  the  Powells  were 
the  Marriotts'  poor  relations ;  and  their  very  anatomy 
proclaimed  as  much,  suggesting  but  slight  acquaintance 
with  the  eggs,  the  beefsteak  and  the  yellow  cream  upon 
which  the  broad  bones  and  fresh  ruddy  faces  of  the  Mar- 
riotts were  as  obviously  sustained. 

"Where  are  you  going  to  school?"  Josie  Marriott  asked 
abruptly  of  Diantha  Powell.  Josie  was  fourteen  while 
Diantha  was  twelve,  but  she  had  the  assurance  of  twenty 
additional  years ;  and  her  disposition  was  not  at  its  best, 
as  she  had  lately  vowed  herself  to  a  process  called  "bant- 
ing," resolving  to  persevere  while  one  ounce  of  superfluous 
flesh  could  be  detected  upon  her  frame,  though  the  clink- 


THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS      3 

ing  of  china  indoors  was  a  sore  trial  to  her  still  unsubdued 
appetite. 

"Nowhere  this  summer,"  Diantha  made  answer  in  a 
frightened  New  England  voice,  "but  in  September  I  sup- 
pose we  shall  start  in  at  the  public  school." 

"Oh!"  said  Josie  to  Helene.  "The  public  school!"  and 
after  looking  Diantha  up  and  down  from  her  narrow 
brown  shoes, — scuffed  at  the  toes, — to  her  pigtails,  she 
turned  her  shoulder  to  the  world  and  resumed  conversa- 
tion with  her  most  intimate  friend.  Helene  was  not 
entitled  by  birth  to  share  the  Marriott  festivities,  but 
both  she  and  Josie  would  have  felt  a  separation  for  the 
afternoon  too  keenly,  so  she  had  come  along. 

For  one  moment  Diantha  was  left  blushing,  before  her 
brother  Mat  came  to  the  rescue.  If  Josie  was  older  than 
Diantha,  he  was  likewise  a  year  Josie' s  senior;  and  being 
a  Liberal  by  temperament,  he  had  chosen  to  express  his 
independence  of  wealth  and  rank  by  adopting  for  the  day 
an  unlovely  defiant  air  and  a  voice  needlessly  loud  and 
flat. 

"Where  do  you  go?"  he  now  fired  at  Josie. 

"Oh,  I'm  at  Miss  Whipple's ;  but  of  course  you  couldn't 
go  there,  because  you're  a  boy:  and  I  don't  know," — • 
with  another  slow  look  at  Diantha's  attire, — "I'm  not 
sure  Diantha  would  care  about  it  either." 

Helene  hereupon  nudged  Josie,  and  the  two  went  off 
into  a  cadenza  of  half -stifled  gigglings. 

"When  Diantha  goes  to  a  private  school,"  said  Mat, 
fairly  stumbling  over  his  words  in  his  fury,  "I  shall  make 
sure  she  goes  to  one  where  there  are  ladies!'9  And  though 
the  phrase  did  not  satisfy  him,  he  had  at  least  voiced  a 
protest. 

From  his  lounge-chair,  Edgar  Marriott  looked  down 
on  the  restless  group.  He  had  thought  Mat  his  father's 
image  at  first  sight: — the  same  long,  egg-like  contours 
of  skull  and  face,  the  same  slyness  about  the  lips.  But 


4      THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS 

as  he  stood  now,  with  his  jaw  thrust  out,  his  hair  bristling 
rather  than  ruffling  in  the  wind,  his  brows  knotted,  and 
his  green  eyes  snapping  sparks,  he  gave  Edgar  a  sudden 
hope  for  Vesey  Powell's  children  by  showing  that  they 
were  also  Amy's,  and  had  Marriott  blood  in  their  veins. 

Not  Edgar  alone,  who  watched  from  philosophic  curi- 
osity, stopped  talking  to  follow  the  development  of  the 
minute  scene;  by  common  understanding,  Mrs.  Tolman 
Marriott  and  her  married  daughter  Christine,  lately  pro- 
moted from  the  rug  to  a  rocking-chair,  looked  first  at 
the  children  and  then  at  each  other. 

It  was  Fanning,  Daisy  Marriott's  young  god,  her  only 
son,  who  with  three  words  and  a  laugh  controlled  the 
situation. 

"What's  the  odds?"  said  Fanning,  glancing  from  his 
sister  to  Mat,  both  of  whom  looked  abashed,  "I've  known 
heaps  of  fellows  who  went  to  the  public  school,  and  they 
all  say  it's  great.  What's  the  use  talking  about  schools 
anyway?  Here  we  are  at  the  first  of  June.  Why  gloom?" 

It  was  Fanning's  nature  to  take  the  center  of  the  stage, 
and  no  one  disputed  him  now.  He  was  fifteen,  a  mature 
age  to  those  most  concerned,  and  he  seemed  less  callow 
and  clumsy  than  his  coeval,  Mat.  While  Mat  with  one 
half  of  his  brain  was  calling  Fan  a  "patronizing  young 
ass,"  and  with  the  other  thanking  him  for  a  release  from 
a  crude  broil,  Diantha,  more  susceptible,  turned  upon  this 
kindest,  most  tactful  of  cousins  two  dark-gray  orbs  which 
obliterated  the  rest  of  her  face,  and  recognized  him  for 
her  divinity.  His  dark  eyes  laughed  at  the  world,  and 
his  features  were  still  softened  with  the  curves  and  the 
peach-coloring  of  boyhood.  His  hair  was  a  vivacious, 
warm  brown,  his  teeth  were  straight  and  radiantly  white. 

He  was  kind  .  .  .  ineffably  kind,  in  an  overwhelming 
world  .  .  . 

"I  say,  Eddie,"  said  he,  "has  something  happened  to 
the  provisions?" 


THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS      5 

"You  wait  and  see,"  replied  Eddie  sardonically.  "Per- 
haps there  won't  be  any  this  year." 

The  question  had  been  asked  of  him  because  he,  with 
Edgar  his  father,  lived  in  his  grandfather's  house;  and 
he  had  replied  rudely  because  Fan  was  handsome  and  he 
was  ugly,  Fan  was  civil  and  he  was  morose,  because  every- 
body liked  Fan  and  no  one  could  get  along  with  him. 

But  questions  and  answers  were  superseded  by  the  ap- 
pearance of  Rhoda  with  her  tray;  and  the  Olympians 
on  the  porch  were  served  to  strawberry  ice-cream  and 
cocoanut  layer-cake. 

Surging  throngs  along  the  curb,  whose  ancestors  had 
not  taken  passage  on  the  Mayflower,  and  who  were 
jostling  one  another  as  they  directed  themselves  toward 
the  nearest  glass  of  beer,  and  pushing  past  the  vendors 
of  canes,  pennants  and  popcorn,  looked  up  with  frank  in- 
terest at  the  unusual  sight, — legacy  from  a  simpler  age, — 
of  a  well-to-do  family  eating  ice-cream  in  public  on  the 
front  steps. 

When  Rhoda  had  served  Mrs.  Tolman  Marriott,  Mrs. 
Vesey  Powell, — who  accepted  with  a  deprecatory,  unfash- 
ionable smile, — and  Christine  Herron  whom  she  was  loath 
to  admit  into  the  category  of  the  adult,  she  approached 
Tolman  Marriott  and  Vesey  Powell. 

"No,  thanks,  Rhoda,"  said  the  financier. 

"Thank  you,  no,"  murmured  Vesey,  parrot-like. 

"Come  along,  Tolman,"  said  a  vibrant  voice  from  the 
lounge-chair,  "it's  only  once  a  year,  you  know,  and  when 
Father  gets  back  he'll  ask  if  you  scraped  your  plate." 

Tolman  smiled  at  his  brother,  threw  his  cigar  over  the 
balustrade,  and  partook  of  the  refreshments,  whereupon 
Vesey  likewise  changed  his  mind. 

Adeline  Marriott  and  her  fiance  Ernest  Conrad  were 
not  admitted  to  rocking-chairs,  but  they  vindicated  their 
dignity  by  sitting,  nose  to  nose,  at  the  extreme  top  of 
the  steps. 


6      THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS 

"Come  up,  children,  so  Rhoda  won't  have  to  go  so 
far,"  called  Amy  Powell  to  her  brood. 

"Sure  I'd  as  soon  go  down  as  thim  come  up  and  bust 
all  the  best  china,"  said  Rhoda,  lumbering  on  her  way. 

Among  the  younger  generation  there  was  no  coyness 
in  the  face  of  nourishment.  The  silver  rattled  busily. 
Diantha  sat  with  her  spoon  in  her  mouth  and  her  eyes 
resting  in  perfect  unconsciousness  upon  Fanning  as  he 
ate ;  and  in  her  ears  sounded  the  nerve-exalting  strains  of 
two  departing  bands  playing  against  each  other.  She 
was  reliving  the  most  stupendous  moments  of  this  daz- 
zling day, — the  Governor  on  horseback,  Great-Uncle 
Joshua,  in  uniform  and  soft-toed  boots,  marching  to 
sound  of  fife  and  drum  with  the  Grand  Army  of  the  Re- 
public. The  great  flag  above  moved  rhythmically,  throw- 
ing shadow  and  light  across  them.  In  the  warm  after- 
noon all  sounds  were  merged  into  a  dreamlike  murmur, 
— scuffle  and  chatter  of  crowds,  clink  of  spoons,  the  re- 
membered tramping  of  soldiers'  feet  .  .  . 

On  this  revery  broke  her  mother's  distracted  voice. 
"Diantha,  do  see  to  Herby!"  Up  to  this  time  the  third 
and  youngest  of  the  Powells  had  been  too  dazed  to  do 
more  than  blink  at  the  world  over  his  fat  cheeks ;  but 
with  the  advent  of  the  plate  he  had  become  active.  The 
ice-cream  was  hard,  and  he  had  already  hounded  it  by  a 
series  of  frontal  thrusts  of  his  spoon  to  the  very  rim  of 
the  dish.  One  last  lunge  drove  plate  and  dainty  from 
his  grasp,  and  sent  them  hurtling  down  the  steps.  The 
plate  fell  into  three  pieces,  but  the  ice-cream  launched 
itself  through  space  and  landed  squarely  on  Helene's  mus- 
lin knees. 

Herby  set  up  a  baffled  howl. 

"Oh,  my  Lord !"  said  Josie. 

"Shut  up,  Jo,"  Fan  admonished  her.  "It's  not  your 
funeral." 

Diantha  scrambled  with  a  spoon  and  a  handkerchief 
toward  the  outraged  Helene,  while  Amy  fluttered  down 


THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS      7 

like  some  anguished  fowl  among  the  wreckage.  Mat 
hated,  at  this  moment,  both  his  little  brother  who  had 
spilled  the  food,  and  his  ineffectual  mother  and  sister. 

Cousin  Edgar  alone  among  those  present  enjoyed  the 
scene,  as  it  showed  him  characters  in  action;  his  hobby 
was  watching  his  fellow-beings,  and  to-day  he  was  cata- 
loguing these  descendants  of  his  Uncle  Ezra  Marriott. 

The  Marriott  sisters,  exclaiming  their  indignation, 
withdrew  Helene  to  a  bathroom  upstairs, — a  bathroom 
rich  with  hand-painted  plumbing  chosen  by  Joshua's  wife 
Lucinda  at  about  the  same  time  she  bought  her  famous 
diamond  eardrops.  Amy  Powell,  escorted  by  Diantha, 
removed  her  disgraced  offspring  to  the  downstairs  wash- 
room to  cleanse  and  chastise  him.  The  whole  party  scat- 
tered about  the  house. 

The  older  men  in  the  billiard-room  talked  about  Ad- 
miral Togo's  trouncing  of  Rodjesvensky,  and  agreed  with 
one  another  that  the  Japanese  were  a  wonderful  little 
people.  Edgar  gave  utterance  to  prophecies  about  a  new 
Golden  Age  in  Russia,  to  which  Tolman  listened  with  an 
affectionate  smile.  The  two  brothers  liked  one  another 
thoroughly,  though  they  had  differed  on  every  conceivable 
topic  since  they  were  boys.  As  for  Vesey  Powell,  with- 
out premeditation  they  armored  themselves  for  mutual 
defense  against  his  intrusion  into  the  conversation;  but 
he  was  in  no  wise  abashed,  and  persevered  in  trying  to 
pick  up  hints  on  the  state  of  the  Far  Eastern  markets. 

Ernest  Conrad  lingered  in  the  hall,  determined  to  be 
entrapped  into  no  social  group  for  the  rest  of  the  after- 
noon. He  felt  that  he  and  his  fiancee  had  given  full  meas- 
ure to  their  relatives  that  day,  and  as  soon  as  Adeline 
came  downstairs  he  intended  to  withdraw  her  into  the 
conservatory. 

The  three  boys  were  soon  clattering  up  to  the  third 
story,  where  Eddie's  treasures,  of  which  a  new  turning- 
lathe  with  electrical  connections  was  just  then  the  most 
renowned,  made  havoc  of  what  had  been  the  ballroom. 


8       THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS 

Mrs.  Marriott  and  Christine  were  left  to  an  intimate 
gossip  on  the  porch.  The  afternoon  was  really  warm,  and 
the  rocking-chairs  squeaked  like  drowsy  crickets ;  the  flag 
drifted  lazily  back  and  forth. 

Christine,  little  as  her  mother  realized  it,  was  far  away 
on  a  golf-course  watching  her  husband  making  long  drives. 
He,  Luke,  had  flatly  refused  to  join  "Grandpa's  pa- 
triotic rally,"  and  if  she  had  had  the  courage  she  would 
have  stayed  away  too.  But,  once  having  arrived,  it  was 
pleasanter  to  chat  with  Daisy,  who  recognized  her  as  a 
woman  of  the  world,  than  to  wander  among  lanky  fledgling 
cousins. 

"Where  did  we  find  them,  darling?"  she  asked. 

"Christine,"  said  her  mother,  "I  may  have  personal 
failings,  they  say  everybody  has ;  but  at  least  I  can  look 
you  all  in  the  face  and  swear  that  I  have  no  relatives 
to  inflict  on  your  father  comparable  to  those  he  inflicts 
on  me." 

"Just  who  are  they?" 

"Well,  this  Amy  is  the  daughter  of  your  grandfather's 
brother  Ezra." 

"She's  not  so  bad ;  it's  her  husband." 

"My  dear,  it  was  a  runaway  match.  Heaven  knows 
where  she  found  him.  Tolman's  sent  them  checks  every 
Christmas  for  years.  But  it  does  annoy  me,  I  admit,  to 
have  them  come  and  camp  at  our  back  door." 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"Didn't  you  hear  Vesey  Powell  say  when  Edgar  intro- 
duced him,  'Well,  Cousin,  I  understand  you're  near  neigh- 
bors of  ours'?  They've  taken  one  of  those  buggy  little 
houses  on  Hickory  Place  right  around  the  corner  from 
the  Drive,  and  not  half  a  block  from  our  service  entrance." 

"That  is  cool.  Do  you  suppose  they  knew  where  we 
lived?" 

"Knew,  my  child?  Knew?  Why  else  did  they  come  to 
Chicago?  Mark  my  words,  Vesey  Powell  is  going  to  get 
his  living  out  of  us.  He's  as  slippery  as  an  eel,  you  can 


THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS      9 

see  it  in  his  eye.  I  suppose  I  ought  not  to  mind,  your 
father  can  afford  it  well  enough ;  but  you  know  I  hate  to 
be  imposed  on." 

"Do  you  mean  they  just  moved  out  here  to  be  near 
us?" 

"Tolman  says  he  isn't  in  any  one  business  more  than 
another.  He  promotes  various  fly-by-night  companies. 
But  why  doesn't  he  stay  in  his  home  town,  where  he's 
known,  unless  he  made  it  too  hot  to  hold  him?  I  say 
there's  just  one  reason;  he's  camping  on  the  trail  of  his 
wife's  relatives.  He  knows  we  can't  let  them  go  naked 
and  starving  around  our  own  block." 

"How  do  you  suppose  his  wife  takes  it?  She  seems 
rather  sweet." 

"Sweet,  yes.  I  pity  the  poor  woman  from  my  heart. 
But  she  doesn't  look  as  if  she  had  an  atom  of  spirit." 

"It's  funny  she  ever  came  to  run  away,"  said  Christine, 
with  the  rich  consciousness  of  a  church  wedding,  six 
bridesmaids  and  five  hundred  presents,  a  year  withdrawn 
into  the  background  of  her  past. 

"I  haven't  had  a  chance  to  ask  your  father  about  her 
yet.  He  used  to  visit  her  family  in  Springfield  while  he 
was  at  New  Haven.  You  know  I  never  set  eyes  on  them 
till  we  walked  in  and  found  them  to-day.  Your  grand- 
father was  beaming.  'Brother  Ezra's  girl' — he  called  her; 
I  didn't  find  out  her  name  till  I  cornered  Tolman  in  the 
back  parlor  for  a  minute." 

"As  you  say,"  said  Christine  consolingly,  "if  money  is 
what  they  want,  Father  can  perfectly  well  part  with  a 
little.  And  they  won't  expect  anything  else." 

"I'm  not  so  sure,"  said  Daisy,  rocking  herself  with  an 
agitated  toe.  "You'll  call  me  a  fool  to  my  face,  Chris- 
tine, and  say  I'm  borrowing  trouble;  but  I  have  a  pre- 
sentiment that  Vesey  Powell  won't  rest  easy  till  he's  mar- 
ried that  little  girl  off  to  Fanning." 

"Oh,  Mother,  Mother,  Mother!" 

"Laugh  on,  my  darling:  odder  things  have  happened." 


10    THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS 

"But  it's  unthinkable.  Fanning—why,  he's  a  regular 
ladies'  man  already;  all  the  little  girls  at  dancing-school 
are  mad  about  him,  I  hear;  he'll  hav  chance  eo  kuoW 
the  most  attractive  people  in  Americ  a. 

"Boys  don't  marry  the  most  attractive  girls  in  America, 
my  dear ;  they  marry  girls  who  are  thrown  at  their  heads. 
I'm  speaking  about  boys  with  money." 

"Thank  goodness  Luke  is  poor." 

"Your  father  says  Luke's  an  excellent  business  man." 
(Christine  radiated  joy;  Luke  was  her  obsession.) 

"The  only  thing  for  you  to  do,  Mother,  is  to  throw 
somebody  else  at  Fan's  head." 

"I  suppose  you're  joking;  but  it's  good  sound  advice, 
and  it's  what  every  sensible  mother  ought  to  do.  I  don't 
say  this  because  I'm  prejudiced,  Christine.  I  just  say 
what  everybody  will  admit — that  Fan  is  a  remarkable  boy, 
and  the  very  best  in  the  world  is  none  too  good  for  him." 

"Dearest  Mother,"  said  Christine,  laughing  indul- 
gently. "That's  the  principle  you  brought  us  all  up  on, 
and  I  hope  you'll  never  waver  in  it." 

"I  thank  the  Lord  for  my  children,"  said  Daisy,  sin- 
cerely. "You've  all  been  a  great  comfort  to  me." 

"I  must  say,  I  don't  think  Jo-Jo's  any  ornament  to  the 
family  tree  just  at  present.  She's  downright  disagreeable, 
and  she  was  as  rude  as  could  be  at  lunch.  And  who's  that 
dreadful  little  Helene  she  runs  with?" 

"She'll  outgrow  all  that.  You  may  have  forgotten 
that  you  and  Adeline  were  twice  as  unattractive  the  year 
before  you  went  away  to  school.  Perhaps  you  don't  recall 
that  you  intended  to  leave  home  and  go  on  the  stage?" 

"That's  perfectly  true,"  said  Christine,  with  another 
of  her  frank  laughs.  "You'll  make  a  lady  out  of  Josie 
somehow.  She's  got  a  good  start  physically.  I  couldn't 
help  realizing  it  when  I  looked  down  and  compared  her 
with  the  Powells." 

"The  poor  little  things  probably  don't  get  enough  to 


THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS    11 

eat.  And  their  clothes  don't  look  as  if  they  kept  them 
warm.  I'm  going  to  send  a  lot  of  old  things  over  to  Amy ; 
she'll  b(  able  to  ic<\them." 

"Pool  Dianth  HOW  I'd  have  suffered  when  I  was  her 
age,  if  I'd  had  to  go  out  looking  like  a  holy  show !" 

"Well,  they  don't  realize  it  the  way  you  would.  I  don't 
imagine  they've  associated  with  many  well-dressed  people." 

"Don't  you  suppose  she  had  respectable  friends  back 
East?" 

"Oh,  very  likely ;  but  you  know  how  those  old  New  Eng- 
land families  are;  the  ones  that  have  no  ambition  stay 
in  the  original  house  and  live  on  their  ancestors'  credit; 
and  the  ones  who  amount  to  something  run  away  from 
home,  just  as  your  grandfather  did,  and  make  money  out 
West.  Probably  Amy's  friends  are  nothing  so  remark- 
able." 

Mrs.  Marriott  undervalued  the  blood  of  the  Pilgrim 
Fathers,  having  dispensed  with  it  quite  comfortably.  Her 
father,  Ricky  Pellew,  had  enjoyed  one  of  those  meteoric 
speculative  flights  which  come  out  of  the  obscure  and 
circle  into  the  inane;  and  from  the  crest  of  his  arc  she 
had  detached  herself,  and  soared  on  an  independent  wing 
as  Tolman  Marriott's  wife.  Pellew  had  had  the  grace  to 
die  before  the  crash,  and  it  is  true  that  he  had  left  his 
child  free  from  encumbering  family  connections.  She  had 
freely  given  her  loyalty  to  the  Marriott  tradition,  as 
represented  by  the  prosperous  and  respectable  Chicago 
Marriotts ;  but  it  was  another  matter  extending  it  to  cover 
down-at-the-heel  collateral  branches. 

Further  discussion  was  blocked  by  Amy's  reappearance 
on  the  porch  with  her  chastened  small  son,  whose  chunky 
frame  had  settled  into  itself  protectively,  like  the  turtle's, 
to  resist  a  period  of  adversity.  He  gave  large  sidelong 
looks  at  the  unsympathetic  adults  who,  after  their  man- 
ner, blamed  little  boys  for  spilling  ice-cream  just  as  if 
they  had  meant  to  do  it,  instead  of  being  victimized  by 


12     THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS 

malign  natural  forces.  Herby's  rosy  lower  lip  was  thrust 
outward  in  a  pout  which,  as  a  good  stoic,  he  prevented 
from  developing  toward  tears. 

Behind  Amy's  skirts  Diantha  came  creeping.  She  was 
afraid  of  the  large  hall  they  had  just  traversed,  which 
was  full  of  black  bronze  beasts  from  the  Orient,  and  lit 
only  by  the  strangled  colorings  of  the  stained-glass  win- 
dow on  the  landing,  and  in  one  corner  of  which  towered 
the  ecclesiastical  tubing  of  a  pipe-organ. 

Herby  was  taken  into  his  mother's  lap,  as  she  murmured 
conversation  to  Daisy ;  Diantha  isolated  herself  at  the 
bottom  of  the  steps,  and  put  her  thumb  in  her  mouth  while 
collecting  her  forces.  Too  many  new  impressions  had  made 
impact  on  her  consciousness,  both  of  pleasure  and  pain. 
In  the  first  place,  Chicago  was  still  a  strange  city  to  her, 
and  the  furniture  sat  in  packing-cases  about  their  house. 
There  had  been  a  long  ride  on  the  street-cars,  with  a 
change  downtown  and  a  walk  through  uproarious  streets, 
where  a  wind  had  rushed  out  and  blown  her  hat  off  her 
head. 

Then  they  had  arrived  at  Great-Uncle  Joshua's  house, 
and  for  once  Mat  and  Diantha  were  agreed  that  their 
father  had  not  exaggerated.  It  was  a  castle,  standing  on 
its  own  lawns,  and  marked  for  the  size  and  cleanliness  of 
its  flag  from  all  the  neighboring  houses.  Uncle  Joshua 
had  met  them  on  the  porch, — which  he  called  the  "stoop", 
— and  kissed  them  all,  patting  Amy's  arm  and  turning  her 
around  to  look  at  her.  He  was  dressed  in  his  uniform, 
with  two  medals. 

Of  the  other  relatives  they  had  met,  Diantha  had  dif- 
ferentiated only  two, — Josie  and  Fan.  She  was  not  a 
rancorous  little  girl,  nor  self-assertive,  but  she  dumbly 
recognized  Josie's  unfriendliness.  As  for  Fan,  how  could 
she  help  knowing  him?  As  far  as  the  august  elders  went, 
her  young  lady  cousins  would  have  been  piqued  to  learn 
that  she  had  confused  them  with  their  mother,  and  re- 


THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS    13 

garded  herself  as  the  possessor  of  an  indefinite  number  of 
new  aunt-like  relations. 

The  house,  also,  was  without  form  and  void  to  her.  She 
supposed  it  to  contain  almost  any  number  of  dark,  caver- 
nous apartments,  all  studded  with  bric-a-brac  which  one 
must  take  care  not  to  touch.  That  it  should  have  a 
ground-plan  and  limits  was  not  among  her  conceptions. 

Of  the  parade  we  have  spoken ;  but  there  are  no  words 
new  and  trenchant  enough  to  express  Diantha's  feelings. 
When  for  the  first  time  she  heard  the  drums  roll  out  their 
long,  heart-stirring  thunder,  leading  up  to  the  crash  of 
the  brasses,  she  wanted  to  die  for  her  country — at  once, 
magnificently!  The  troops  had  passed,  and  one  thrill 
after  another  had  shuddered  along  her  nervous  system 
from  its  center  to  its  extremities. 

"He  is  sounding  forth  the  trumpet  that  shall  never  call 

retreat, 
He  is  sifting  out  the  hearts  of  men  before  his  judgment 

seat. 

Be  swift,  my  soul,  to  answer  him,  be  jubilant  my  feet — 
Our  God  is  marching  on!" 

It  was  a  quaint  little  parade:  a  handful  of  militia, 
two  or  three  companies  of  the  regular  cavalry,  and  a  few 
cadets,  followed  by  civilian  fraternal  orders  in  business 
suits,  with  canes  over  their  shoulders.  But  Diantha  saw 
her  country  marching;  she  heard  it  shouting  the  battle- 
cry  of  freedom ;  and  her  spirit  was  exalted. 

To  these  ennobling  sensations  had  succeeded  the  crudi- 
ties of  Josie  and  Mat,  the  intercession  of  the  adorable 
Fan,  and  with  Herby's  debacle,  the  ghastly  nerve-strain 
of  standing  by  while  his  hands  were  slapped  and  forming 
her  first  independent  judgment  of  her  mother.  She  had 
long  known  that  her  father  was  liable  to  human  error; 
but  on  that  day  Amy  had  knocked  down  the  first  stone 


14     THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS 

of  her  own  pedestal,  which,  falling,  made  a  deep  bruise  on 
her  daughter's  soul.  Herby,  be  it  said,  had  quickly  for- 
given his  mother,  whose  conduct  was  no  more  inexplicable 
to  him  than  everything  else  in  the  world. 

Edgar  came  out  on  the  porch,  leaning  on  his  cane. 

"It's  time  Father  was  home,"  he  said.  "I'm  always 
nervous  for  fear  he'll  have  a  sunstroke  before  he  gets 
back.  But  it's  the  breath  of  life  to  him." 

"Sit  down,  Edgar;  worrying  won't  bring  him." 

"True  and  well  put,  Sister  Daisy."  Edgar  settled 
down  in  his  wicker  lounge-chair,  and  fell  into  reflection. 
With  health  and  career  both  wrecked,  it  was  his  principal 
pastime.  His  new  cousins  gave  him  a  cud  to  chew,  and 
he  revolved  the  mystery  of  personality,  which  with  its 
roots  in  the  same  race  and  line,  and  its  stalks  feeding  on 
the  same  air,  puts  forth  clusters  of  flowers  of  the  most  in- 
explicable differentiation.  "One  of  God's  hobbies,"  he 
thought.  He  was  wont  to  regard  God  without  reverence, 
as  a  quick-witted  opponent  with  whom  one  played  chess 
during  the  term  of  one's  life,  more  for  the  sake  of  the 
game  than  for  any  practical  purpose.  Edgar  subscribed 
to  the  heresy  more  lately  formulated  for  the  masses  by 
Wells,  and  felt,  even  if  he  did  not  believe,  that  there  was 
some  obscure  force  greater  for  good  than  God  himself, — 
God  who  had  shown  himself  inexpert  in  the  handling  of 
Edgar's  life, — and  that  for  the  sake  of  this  greater  good, 
mankind  might  well  ally  itself  to  a  deity  who  generally 
needed  helping  out  of  a  tight  place. 

Meanwhile  Joshua  Marriott  came  along  the  sidewalk, 
bringing  two  old  friends  back  for  a  taste  of  the  ice-cream. 
They  moved  slowly,  painfully,  with  childlike  enjoyment  on 
their  faces.  They  turned  in  through  the  iron  gateway, 
and  when  Diantha  raised  her  eyes  they  stood  before  her. 

She  sprang  up:  her  hands  flew  to  her  throat,  which 
was  choked  with  worship.  They  smiled  at  her,  and  limped 
up  the  steps.  Diantha  stood  one  moment  transfixed,  and 


THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS    15 

then  fled  rapidly  up  into  the  house  to  be  alone  with  her- 
self ;  she  rushed  into  the  farthest  drawing-room,  and  there 
stood  trembling  among  the  huge  Cloisonne  jars. 

Edgar  had  seen  her  pass,  and  he  had  seen  the  unquiet 
radiance  of  her  face.  As  soon  as  Joshua,  with  Captain 
Toody  and  Major  Dowden,  had  been  welcomed  and  seated, 
and  Rhoda  had  brought  them  food,  he  went  in  search  of 
her.  His  faint  step  came  toward  her  through  arched 
doorways ;  she  hid  herself  behind  a  vase  as  he  pursued :  the 
next  thing  she  knew,  she  was  sitting  on  his  knee,  her  face 
buried  in  his  shoulder;  gusts  of  noiseless  sobbing  were 
shaking  her  small  ribs ;  and  his  metallic  voice  was  soothing 
her— "There,  child!  There,  there,  you  dear  little  thing! 
Cry  away  to  your  heart's  content !" 

He  asked  no  questions.  He  mopped  her  tears  with  a 
huge,  soft  handkerchief.  They  sat  for  perhaps  ten 
minutes,  till  she  re-established  her  composure:  then  she 
gave  him  a  shame-faced  smile,  and  he  placed  her  more 
conventionally  on  the  sofa  beside  him. 

"It  has  been  a  big  day,  hasn't  it?"  he  asked.  "How 
old  are  you?" 

"Twelve." 

"I'm  more  than  three  times  as  old  as  you  are.  I'll 
be  forty  next  spring." 

"Mamma's  forty-one." 

"What  are  you  going  to  be  like  when  you're  forty?" 

Her  answering  smile  was  roguish,  recognizing  the  del- 
icate absurdity  of  the  idea  that  she  might  ever  become 
forty. 

"I  shall  have  seven  children,"  she  said,  adding  with  a 
touch  of  bitterness,  "and  I  shall  feed  them  ice-cream  with 
my  own  hands" 

"Yes,  we  do  make  mistakes,"  he  replied.  "You  have 
to  learn  to  overlook  them.  That's  what's  called  Education 
for  Life." 

Was  he  simply  talking  nonsense  as  grown-ups  generally 


16     THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS 

did,  or  had  he  a  meaning?  Her  mind  made  a  slight  stretch- 
ing motion,  then  sank  back.  Twelve-year-olds  do  not 
develop  through  the  contemplation  of  abstract  nouns. 

"What's  your  husband  going  to  be  like?"  inquired 
Cousin  Edgar. 

"He's  going  to  be  the  Governor  of  Massachusetts"- 
glibly;  then  suddenly  she  checked  herself,  seeing  that  if 
she  went  on  she  might  reveal  the  secret  of  his  identity. 
He  was  to  be  Fanning,  or  else  his  replica. 

"Public  life,  eh?  I  suppose  you'd  like  to  ride  in  a 
victoria,  and  wear  tossing  ostrich-feathers  on  your  hat." 

This  was  a  close  hit.  Her  face  confessed  it,  and  Cousin 
Edgar  chuckled. 

"Come  on  and  talk  to  your  great-uncle,"  he  said.  "Pull 
me  up,"  and  he  let  her  hoist  him  to  his  feet  by  hauling  at 
his  thin  hand. 

Before  the  party  dispersed,  Joshua  assembled  them  all 
in  the  front  parlor,  where  hung  the  portrait  of  his  wife 
Lucinda,  with  her  square  jaw  and  her  diamond  eardrops 
— (these  latter  ornaments  having  been  the  first  of  any 
great  size  in  Chicago,  and  so  much  too  precious  to  leave 
at  home,  that  they  were  provided  with  onyx  masks  or 
cases,  so  that  they  could  be  worn  during  the  day  without 
dazzling  the  world).  He  looked  earnestly  into  the  faces 
of  his  grandchildren,  one  after  another,  and  they  stared 
back  at  him.  Pie  had  a  blunt  beard  and  a  smooth  upper 
lip,  and  under  his  white  brows  his  eyes  were  blue  like  a 
child's,  and  had  in  them  something  of  the  baffled  wistful- 
ness  of  a  child's. 

He  made  a  little  patriotic  speech,  and  asked  them  all 
to  hand  on  the  country  to  their  children  as  they  had 
received  it  in  trust  from  their  fathers.  He  spoke  of  the 
friends  of  his  young  manhood,  who  had  given  their  lives 
to  the  nation.  He  told  them  that  each  of  them  as  a  citizen 
would  have  a  debt  to  pay  .  .  . 

Josie  and  Helene  giggled  throughout  this  ceremony; 


THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS    17 

Adeline  held  Ernest's  hand ;  Eddie  blushed  for  his  grand- 
father, whom  he  found  oversentimental ;  the  newcomers 
were  the  only  ones  much  impressed. 

When  the  farewells  came  to  be  performed,  Cousin  Edgar 
drew  Diantha  to  one  side. 

"I  want  to  see  you  often,  you  know.  We're  going  to 
be  great  friends." 

She  nodded  mysteriously,  and  proffered  one  of  the  smiles 
which  little  girls  forget  how  to  give  when  they  grow  up. 

"Mind,  you've  promised.  I  can't  go  over  to  see  you 
very  well.  So  you  must  come  here  the  first  chance  you 
get." 

For  the  second  time  she  nodded,  and  shook  hands  with 
him  in  a  manly,  straightforward  fashion. 

The  Marriotts  drove  home  in  their  superb  imported 
automobile,  of  almost  twelve  horse-power,  which  left  clouds 
of  oily  smoke  wherever  it  passed.  They  regretted  that 
they  had  no  seats  to  offer  the  Powells,  who  regretted  it  at 
least  as  much,  and  who  made  their  way  home  as  best  they 
could  by  the  aid  of  the  surface  lines. 


18     THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS 

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NOT  too  late  of  an  afternoon,  F.  Vesey  Powell  would 
walk  home  from  the  office,  to  help  Amy  settle  the  house 
on  Hickory  Place.  He  was  a  tall  man,  and  there  was 
a  feline  swing  to  his  gait,  not  ungraceful.  The  children 
used  to  watch  for  him  to  round  the  corner  of  Cousin 
Tolman's  house  on  the  Drive,  and  then  Herby  would  rush 
to  let  him  in.  Herby,  as  has  been  said,  was  still  too 
young  to  form  moral  judgments  on  adults  ;  and,  measuring 
life's  gifts  by  the  pleasure  or  pain  they  produced  in  him- 
self, he  knew  no  higher  bliss  than  to  be  jounced  and  thrown 
about  by  Papa's  arms,  and  tickled  by  Papa's  fingers. 

This  afternoon — one  of  the  long  June  days — Papa  was 
reported  to  have  a  package,  so  he  was  welcomed  with  more 
particularity  than  usual. 

"What  do  you  guess,  kiddies  ?"  he  said,  holding  it  high 
above  their  aspiring  arms. 

They  guessed  a  variety  of  things.  Amy,  who  was  on 
her  knees  before  an  ancient  if  not  honorable  armchair, 
with  her  mouth  full  of  tacks,  looked  apprehensive.  It 
ought  to  be  shoes,  or  rather,  considering  the  family  ex- 
chequer, it  ought  to  be  nothing  at  all. 

"Little  rabbits,"  said  Herby. 

"Nonsense.  This  is  a  really  good  present.  Something 
to  make  you  healthy  and  happy,  and  establish  your  place 
in  society.  You  see  it's  quite  a  large  package." 

The  long  and  short  of  it  was — roller  skates !  Leaving 
the  children  to  scramble  over  the  parcel,  Vesey  went  across 
to  kiss  his  wife.  She  received  his  salute  on  the  cheek  with 
absolute  unconcern. 

"Was  that  very  wise?"  she  murmured  through  the  tacks. 
19 


20    THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  beamed  down  at  her. 
"Penny-wise  little  woman !  I  had  a  motive.  I'll  tell  you 
later.  Must  wash  now." 

He  whistled  his  way  upstairs,  and  splashed  merrily  in 
the  bath-room.  Amy  went  on  tacking,  while  the  children 
wrestled  with  the  straps  and  buckles  and  screws  of  the 
skates. 

The  house  discouraged  her.  It  was  the  smallest  they 
had  ever  had,  and  there  was  no  room  for  the  children  to 
play  except  in  the  street,  so  that  when  the  weather  was 
bad  they  smashed  a  good  deal  of  furniture,  and  developed 
tempers  in  themselves  and  in  her.  The  furniture  was  a 
depressing  sight  at  the  best  of  times,  having  been  collected 
during  the  past  fifteen  or  twenty  years,  when  necessity 
commanded,  and  having  withstood  several  May  movings. 
A  few  good  old  pieces  had  come  to  her  when  her  father's 
home  was  broken  up,  but  they  had  endured  much.  They 
sat  dejected  among  plush  patent  rockers  with  broken 
springs,  bead-fringed  lamp-shades  which  were  going 
through  a  molting  process,  tables  ornamented  with  the 
scroll-saw,  bureaux  on  three  casters  and  chairs  on  three 
legs.  The  family  had  preferred  not  to  spend  the  money 
their  landlord  allowed  them  for  decoration,  and  they  fol- 
lowed a  tenant  destitute  of  taste.  The  drawing-room  was 
of  the  smallest  dimensions,  but  it  was  papered  in  a  vigor- 
ous wild-rose  design,  with  unfaded  patches  where  their 
predecessor's  pictures  had  hung.  There  was  a  little  fire- 
place; and  with  a  fresh,  simple  paper,  white  paint,  and 
clean  curtains,  Amy  knew  she  could  have  made  the  place 
cosy ;  but  even  the  petty  sums  which  such  decoration  would 
take  were  pledged  to  uses  more  fundamental. 

Back  of  this  room  was  a  narrow,  dark  dining-room  ex- 
tending the  full  width  of  the  house, — some  sixteen  feet, — 
with  the  stairs  running  out  of  it.  Behind  that  were  a 
kitchen  and  a  most  uninviting  pantry.  Whether  or  not, 
to  quote  Mrs.  Tolman,  the  house  was  buggy,  it  was  un- 


THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS    21 

deniably  mousy,  and  damp,  and  completely  screened  from 
all  but  the  most  insinuating  sunshine. 

Vesey  came  down  brimming  with  inventiveness  and  good 
humor,  knocked  the  children  out  of  his  way  right  and 
left,  took  the  tack-hammer  from  his  wife's  hand,  and  bade 
her  spit  out  the  tacks  she  was  eating.  In  three  minutes 
he  finished  upholstering  the  sofa  and  the  chairs ;  then  he 
put  up  a  bracket  for  the  telephone;  did  a  little  amateur 
plumbing  to  the  kitchen  range,  and  inserted  a  new  washer 
in  one  of  the  faucets ;  and  then  he  and  Mat  laid  the  stair- 
carpet,  ingeniously  adapting  the  worn  spots  to  the  dark 
corners. 

"Well !"  said  Vesey,  sitting  back  on  his  heels.  "Who 
says  we  haven't  a  jolly  little  home  already?  The  next 
money  we  get,  we'll  buy  a  canary  and  a  goldfish." 

Herby's  face  expressed  lively  satisfaction.  He  was  wear- 
ing his  roller-skates,  but  finding  that  with  the  slightest 
movement  he  precipitated  himself  to  the  floor,  he  judged 
it  best  to  hold  firmly  to  the  newel-post  and  watch  his 
father  and  brother. 

"Diantha !"  called  Amy  from  the  kitchen.  "Won't  you 
come  and  help  mamma  with  the  supper?" 

Diantha  at  that  moment  was  cautiously  poking  out 
her  feet,  one  after  the  other,  along  the  front  sidewalk. 

"Heedless  child !"  murmured  her  mother,  returning  to 
the  frying-pan  to  give  the  potatoes  a  turn  before  setting 
the  dining-table. 

Diantha's  head  was  down,  her  arms  were  waving  wildly 
on  either  side,  as  she  worked  her  way  along.  All  at  once 
she  found  herself  in  collision  with  a  broad  waistcoat. 

"Mind  where  you're  going,  there,"  said  the  gentleman, 
not  unkindly,  detaching  himself  from  her  and  hurrying 
on. 

She  looked  after  him.  It  was  Cousin  Tolman,  and  he 
turned  briskly  into  his  own  Caen-stone  Renaissance  door- 
way. 


22     THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS 

By  the  time  she  had  skated  home,  the  family  had  been 
for  some  time  seated  at  supper. 

"The  idea  is  this,  it's  very  logical,"  her  father  was  say- 
ing, buttering  his  biscuit  and  biting  generously  into  it. 
"Since  they  can't  play  in  the  house,  they  must  play  in  the 
street.  Now  only  little  hoodlums  play  in  the  street ;  but 
the  very  nicest  children  skate  in  the  street,  because  they 
can't  skate  anywhere  else.  And  anybody  can  see  that 
skating  is  good  exercise:  imparts  grace  to  the  limbs;  pro- 
motes circulation;  works  off  steam.  Let  them  skate. 
They'll  get  acquainted  with  all  the  rich  families  around 
here,  the  way  children  do.  And  then  it  will  be  bound  to 
throw  them  in  their  cousins'  way — keep  them  in  mind  of 
us,  don't  you  know." 

Vesey  had  early  in  life  developed  a  meretricious  frank- 
ness which  he  used  to  save  the  trouble  of  hypocrisy.  He 
did  not  mind  being  heard  to  discourse  in  this  vein  by  his 
children,  because  he  knew  well  that  they  had  already 
judged  him.  He  thought  he  was  teaching  them  worldly 
wisdom. 

"Of  course,"  said  Mat,  "everybody  with  the  money  to 
do  it,  leaves  town  before  now.  I  have  no  idea  of  flinging 
myself  in  front  of  the  Tolman  Marriotts,  but  I'll  just 
point  out  that  they  are  all  in  Lake  Forest  anyway." 

"No,  they  aren't,"  said  Diantha,  "I  skated  into  Cousin 
Tolman  just  now." 

"You  see,"  said  Vesey  triumphantly  to  Amy;  and  then 
to  Diantha,  "What  did  he  say?" 

"Oh,  he  didn't  know  me,"  said  Diantha.  "We  got  out 
of  each  other's  way,  and  he  went  into  his  house." 

"Mmm,"  articulated  Vesey.  "These  things  ought  not 
so  to  be,  my  brethren.  .  .  .Well !  time  will  adjust  that  .  .  . 
Most  superior  biscuits,  dearest." 

Vesey  often  prided  himself  on  his  attentiveness  to  his 
wife,  and  sometimes  wondered  that  she  showed  so-  little 
appreciation  of  it.  She  took  his  kindness  as  passively  as 
though  it  were  the  weather.  Once  or  twice  he  had  wished 


THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE   POWELLS    23 

that  before  marrying  him  she  had  been  the  widow  of  some- 
one who  had  ill-used  her,  so  that  she  might  set  a  more 
proper  value  on  her  domestic  happiness. 

After  the  washing  of  the  dishes,  the  three  children  skated 
earnestly  till  dark.  Their  father  sat  on  the  steps  to 
watch  them,  and  Amy  joined  him  with  her  .darning- 
basket.  "Jolly  little  beggars !"  he  said  fondly. 

Once  Amy  put  down  her  sock,  and  held  her  needle  mo- 
tionless, while  she  gazed  at  her  husband  as  if  trying  to 
fathom  him.  Could  he  really  think  that  three  pairs  of 
roller-skates  were  the  equivalent  of  a  career  of  business 
honesty? 

In  many  ways  Vesey  overreached  himself.  He  threw 
all  his  zeal  into  shady  transactions  in  which  the  greatest 
possible  profit  was  not  large,  and  the  actual  profit  neg- 
ligible. Long  practice  at  launching  doubtful  schemes 
had  given  his  manner  a  craftiness,  a  fictitious  cordiality, 
which  were  obvious  to  any  but  the  meanest  intelligence, 
and  which  made  reputable  business  men  shun  him  at  the 
first  glance,  as  his  cousins  by  marriage  had  instinctively 
done. 

Now  is  perhaps  as  good  a  time  as  another  for  answering 
the  question  Amy's  friends  always  asked  of  one  another, 
— why  she  married  him.  In  this  matter  a  complete  ex- 
planation is  impossible,  because  at  no  time  can  F.  Vesey 
Powell  have  given  the  impression  of  being  a  gentleman, 
and  Amy  was  the  purest  type  of  New  England  gentle- 
woman. But  there  were  other  considerations. 

Amy  Marriott  at  sixteen,  when  her  cousin  Tolman  knew 
her,  had  been  pretty,  arch,  and  rebellious.  The  New 
England  atmosphere  bored  her,  the  New  England  beaux, 
at  least  as  far  as  she  extended  her  acquaintance  among 
them,  did  not  understand  her.  She  liked  to  flirt  with 
them,  but  feeling  that  she  had  a  natural  gift, — in  a  maid- 
enly way,  be  it  always  said, — for  this  art,  she  felt  also 
that  her  talent  was  wasted  on  such  material.  So  she 
played  at  intellectual  independence,  talked  of  earning  her 


24     THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS 

living  as  a  church-singer  in  New  York,  pouted  at  her  good 
father,  and  painted  in  water-color. 

Her  days  glided  by,  in  Springfield  and  its  environs, 
and  pretty  Miss  Marriott  had  reached  the  age  of  twenty- 
four,  and  declined  the  hands  of  some  nineteen  or  twenty 
solid  citizens,  when  not  only  she  but  her  neighbors  noticed 
a  marked  falling-off  in  the  supply  of  suitors.  As  a  matter 
of  fact  she  had  refused  practically  all  the  eligible  young 
men  of  her  circle,  and  to  the  few  remaining  her  reputation 
was  well  enough  known  to  make  them  unwilling  to  ride  for 
a  fall.  Amy  decided  that  spinsterhood  had  overtaken 
her  and  wished  she  had  married  some  one  of  the  nineteen, 
many  of  whom  were  now  proving  in  homes  of  their  own 
what  excellent  husbands  they  made.  But  when  she  thought 
back  over  the  past,  episode  by  episode,  she  could  not  see 
what  she  would  have  changed.  None  of  her  suitors  had 
called  on  the  great  something  within  her  breast,  none  had 
offered  her  the  one  opportunity  for  which  she  was  born. 

At  this  time  a  branch  office  was  opened  in  town  to  sell 
mining  stocks,  which  were  urged  upon  the  public  in  display 
advertising  by  that  enterprising  young  financier,  F.  Vesey 
Powell  of  New  York  and  Boston,  who  wore  suits  which  the 
taste  of  that  day  pronounced  faultless,  and  drove  a 
trotter  and  a  red-wheeled  buggy.  He  did  not  approach 
the  "regular  aristocrats,"  as  he  somewhat  crudely  classi- 
fied them — meaning  the  aristocrats  who  owned  real  money 
and  knew  how  to  take  care  of  it ;  rather  those  who  had 
small  material  support  for  their  inner  conviction  of  gen- 
tility. These  he  flattered  and  cajoled  into  parting  with 
portions  of  their  small  patrimony,  which  were  expected  to 
multiply  some  thirty,  some  sixty,  and  some  a  hundred-fold. 
Dividends  came  in  almost  as  soon  as  subscribers  had  their 
stock — "only  fourteen  per  cent  for  the  first  year  or  two." 

Meanwhile,  giddy  with  success,  he  had  allowed  himself 
to  fall  desperately  and  sincerely  in  love  with  the  renowned 
man-eating  Miss  Marriott.  He  courted  her  skillfully, 


THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE   POWELLS     25 

learned  her  love  of  adventure, — never  yet  gratified, — her 
romanticism.  He  talked  to  her  of  the  greater  world  in 
which  she  should  move;  her  instinct  corroborated  him. 
She  dreamt  of  him,  looked  for  him — in  short,  fell  in  love 
with  him. 

There  came  a  day  when  a  committee  of  leading  citizens 
waited  on  F.  Vesey  Powell  and  talked  plain  Anglo-Saxon 
English  to  him.  They  told  him  they  assumed  he  was 
within  the  law,  but  that  unless  he  left  town  at  once  they 
would  look  into  his  affairs  and  keep  on  looking  till  they 
found  whether  he  was  in  reality  or  not. 

Terrible  hours  succeeded  for  him.  It  so  happened 
that  he  had  broken  no  laws  in  Springfield,  but  an  inquiry 
into  his  reason  for  leaving  Michigan  would  have  destroyed 
all  his  prestige  as  a  financier.  He  never  thought  of  giv- 
ing Amy  up  unless  she  gave  him  up;  and  she  should  not 
learn  from  him  why  he  was  leaving  so  hastily.  During  the 
day  he  set  his  office  in  order,  and  carried  away  a  valise 
full  of  papers.  At  dusk  he  went  up  to  see  Amy  Marriott, 
and  told  her  if  she  loved  him  she  would  come  away  with 
him  to-night — otherwise  she  would  never  see  him  again. 
He  told  her  nothing  more,  but  played  on  her  curiosity,  her 
high  spirit,  her  love  .  .  . 

They  took  the  midnight  train,  and  rode  in  the  day-coach 
to  Boston,  where  they  were  married.  After  this  they 
traveled  rapidly,  and, — though  Amy  did  not  realize  it, — 
secretly,  about  the  country,  apparently  in  no  need  of 
money.  Although  it  is  hard  to  admit  such  weaknesses 
after  the  glamor  has  faded,  they  were  both  during  these 
weeks  lyrically  happy  .  .  . 

In  due  time  Amy  heard  from  home,  and  learned  in  part 
to  know  the  man  she  had  married.  She  was  a  high-minded 
girl,  of  God-fearing  ancestry  and  scrupulous  personal 
honesty ;  and  she  needed  no  more  than  one  such  blow  to 
break  her  spirit.  Vesey's  lack  of  fineness  was  never  better 
shown  than  in  his  willingness  to  go  back  and  visit  indefi- 


26     THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS 

nitely  in  the  town  from  which  he  had  been  driven  as  a 
business  man,  and  in  which  the  details  of  his  worthless 
mining  venture  were  now  but  too  thoroughly  known. 

For  seventeen  years  Amy  had  been  afforded  oppor- 
tunities to  repent  her  marriage,  in  mass  and  detail.  Vesey 
was  not  an  unpleasant  person  to  live  with,  as  far  as 
unessentials  went,  and,  putting  aside  a  few  vagaries  of 
disk>3?alty  to  which  neither  he  nor  she  attached  impor- 
tance, he  never  lost  his  affection  for  his  wife.  But  he  had 
never  yet  paid  a  bill,  except  as  a  last  resort.  Amy 
never  knew  from  day  to  day  how  much  money  she  had  to 
keep  house  on ;  and  when  they  were  in  funds,  she  dreaded 
to  learn  their  origin.  To  a  woman  whose  inmost  soul 
craved  honesty,  order  and  respectability,  all  this  was  a 
varied  duration  of  torture. 

As  to  the  further  question  why  she  never  left  him, 
one  is  on  surer  ground.  Problematical  as  that  buoyancy 
and  recklessness  which  had  led  her  to  elope  seventeen  years 
before  may  have  appeared  in  1905,  there  could  remain  no 
doubt  in  the  observer's  mind  as  to  her  present  lack  of 
spirit.  Her  first  and  only  venture  in  directing  her  life 
had  met  with  such  signal  ill-success  as  to  check  every 
manifestation  of  self-will;  she  had  become  a  woman  with- 
out courage,  bending  to  misfortune  rather  than  combat- 
ing it,  with  a  kind  of  goodness  more  like  Patient  Grisel's 
than  Susan  B.  Anthony's ;  and  since  an  all-wise  Providence 
had  inflicted  Vesey  Powell  upon  her,  she  made  it  her 
duty  to  submit. 

Such  ambition  as  she  had  was  centered  in  her  children. 
This  evening  as  they  staggered  and  gyrated  along  the 
sidewalk  in  the  raspberry-colored  glow,  she  looked  from 
one  to  another  of  them,  dreaming  over  their  future  with 
hope  which  she  felt  to  be  absurd.  She  did  not  care  to 
have  them  rich,  to  her  riches  were  confessed  with  chicanery. 
She  wanted  them  to  grow  up  honest  and  loyal,  truth- 
telling,  fair-dealing  men  and  women,  worthy  of  their  race. 

Diantha  she  had  no  fears  for,  but  not  being  a  feminist, 


THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS    27 

neither  had  she  any  ambitions.  Girls,  to  her  mind,  were 
formed  for  domestic  life,  small  adaptations  and  self- 
sacrifices,  self-abnegating  virtue.  And  there  was  a  square 
solidity  to  Herby's  chubby  frame  that  reassured  her  pes- 
simism. But  Mat,  her  first-born,  swung  like  a  weather- 
vane  between  heredities.  He  was  clever — cleverer  than  a 
Marriott  had  any  right  to  be.  His  long  arms  and  legs 
and  neck,  purely  ugly  at  present,  were  after  his  father's 
pattern,  and  there  were  times  when  he  had  the  same  look. 
But  in  his  cool  green  eye  was  a  hard-headed  twinkle  with 
an  edge  to  it — a  look  that  was  not  deceived  by  shams, 
nor  self -deceived  by  pleasantness.  And  as  we  have  seen 
him  once,  so  she  saw  him  now  and  again,  casting  off  the 
slippery  Powell  smile,  with  a  brutal  outthrust  of  the 
jaw,  gratifyingly  unlike  Vesey. 

"You  know,"  said  her  husband,  breaking  in  on  his 
wife's  revery,  "it's  time  we  went  over  to  see  the  Tolman 
Marriotts." 

"Oh,  Vesey,  I  shouldn't  like  the  looks  of  that.  Mrs. 
Tolman  ought  to  call  here  first'." 

"That's  all  very  well,  my  dear ;  but  suppose  she  doesn't 
get  around  to  call  before  she  moves  to  the  country?" 

"I  don't  know :  she  probably  will  come ; — you  know  she 
spoke  of  sending  over  some  old  clothes  of  her  children's." 

"She  may  and  she  may  not.  It  isn't  as  if  we  held  the 
same  hands.  We  have  everything  to  gain  from  her  ac- 
quaintance, but  on  my  word  I  don't  see  what  she  gains 
from  ours." 

"All  the  more  reason,  then,  for  not  forcing  ourselves  on 
her." 

"All  the  more  reason  for  establishing  ourselves  right 
in  the  bosom  of  the  family,  in  the  most  natural  way  in 
the  world,  before  anybody  has  had  a  chance  to  snub  us." 

"Oh,  Vesey!" 

"The  same  little  theorist,  Amy!  You've  got  to  take 
life  as  you  find  it — I  get  my  amusement  that  way.  Things 
don't  always  break  right  for  me,"  he  said  with  a  trace  of 


28    THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS 

Byronic  bitterness,  "but  I  sit  back  and  watch  human 
nature  operate,  and  learn  lessons  that  come  in  useful 
later,  and  add  them  in  to  the  balance  .  .  .  Life's  a  great 
game,  my  girl," — slapping  his  wife's  knee;  the  sunset  was 
working  on  his  temperament ; — "and  we  play  it  for  great 
stakes.  What  were  our  heads  put  on  our  shoulders  for, 
except  to  play  the  game  with?" 

It  was  seventeen  years  since  he  had  begun  talking  the 
poetry  of  life's  adventure  to  her,  and  she  had  grown 
familiar  with  the  gamut  of  his  lyre. 

"Look  facts  in  the  face,  Amy,"  he  went  on.  "When 
we  discussed  moving  to  Chicago,  didn't  you  think  fore- 
most of  the  advantage  it  would  be  to  the  children  to  form 
connections  with  their  rich,  respectable  cousins?" 

"In  a  way,"  conceded  Amy.  "One  wants  one's  children 
to  have  the  best  chances  and  the  best  surroundings  pos- 
sible." 

"But  you  want  the  chances  to  come  to  them,  you're 
not  willing  to  reach  out  toward  the  chances." 

"I  don't  want  to  be  unladylike." 

"Of  course  you  don't.  But  what  is  there  unladylike 
between  kinsfolk,  in  dropping  in  for  a  friendly  visit?" 

"Well  .   .   ." 

"If  the  Marriotts  begin  to  accept  a  responsibility  to- 
ward the  children  from  the  start,  it  will  help  us  immensely, 
and  it  won't  inconvenience  them  a  particle.  Whereas 
if  you  sit  back,  poor-but-proud,  they'll  let  you  sit  there; 
and  all  the  trouble  and  expense  of  moving  out  here  will 
have  been  wasted — worse  than  wasted,  because  I'Ve  broken 
up  all  my  business  connections."  He  smiled  with  conscious 
sacrifice  toward  the  rich  West. 

"What  is  it  you'd  advise?" 

Vesey  was  never  to  be  caught  without  an  ingenious 
practical  suggestion.  "I  say  that  next  Sunday  afternoon 
we  all  put  on  our  best  bibs  and  tuckers,  and  drop  in  on 
the  Tolmans." 


THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE   POWELLS    29 

"The  whole  of  us?" 

"Every  last  one." 

'Til  think  it  over  .  .  ." 

Vesey  had  won  his  move,  and  relapsed  into  silence. 


Ill 

MEANWHILE  another  social  escapade  was  being  planned 
in  utmost  secrecy.  Diantha  intended  to  keep  her  promise 
and  pay  a  party-call  on  Cousin  Edgar,  but  she  did  not 
intend  to  do  so  in  the  company  of  her  entire  tribe.  Her 
attitude  toward  the  household  differed  from  Mat's,  which 
was  almost  bitter  in  its  clear  vision,  as  much  as  from 
Herby's  loyalty.  She  was  Amy's  child  in  her  love  for 
the  decorous, — a  taste  she  could  indulge  but  too  seldom. 
Very  early  she  had  picked  up  a  pitiful  knack  of  saving 
appearances,  according  to  her  juvenile  lights.  And  often 
appearances  were  best  saved  by  preventing  the  physical 
presence  of  her  father. 

It  did  not  occur  to  Diantha  to  confide  in  anyone.  Her 
plan  had  been  developed  during  night  vigils,  and  sub- 
mitted to  no  worldly  scrutiny.  Its  only  weakness  lay  in 
its  financial  aspect,  which  demanded  an  outlay  of  twenty 
cents. 

The  arrival  of  roller-skates  upset  these  plans  for  the 
better.  As  soon  as  she  could  operate  them,  she  would 
skate  away  from  home  without  interrogation,  and  easily 
find  her  way  to  the  South  Side.  So  morning  and  night 
found  her  laboring  against  the  force  of  gravity,  her 
little  face  sharp  with  resolution.  She  watched  other 
children  flying  along,  swooping  in  effortless  grace;  she 
abandoned  her  equilibrium  and  suffered  violence  in  trying 
to  imitate  them.  A  little  girl  named  Marie  became  her 
counselor,  and  taught  her  by  skating  double  to  give 
herself  up  to  the  swing  of  the  stroke.  By  the  end  of  the 
week  she  had  far  outdistanced  Mat,  and  had  begun  to  find 
pleasure  in  her  exercise. 

On  Saturday,  after  the  breakfast-dishes  and  the  beds, 
30 


THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS    31 

she  inconspicuously  left  home,  in  a  neat  red  gingham  dress. 
She  was  not  the  same  child  who  sat  subdued  beside  her 
father's  elbow  at  breakfast.  Her  eyes  reflected  light  like 
luster  china,  and 'her  eyelashes  aureoled  them  with  pointed 
electric  rays.  The  sun  was  splashing  across  the  ripples 
of  the  lake  as  she  rounded  the  corner  of  the  Drive,  and  a 
company  of  joyous  little  dogs  who  were  out  exploring 
together  ran  some  distance  at  her  flying  heels.  There 
were  brown  horses  trotting  along  the  bridle-path,  clicking 
their  hoofs  in  a  joyous  rhythm. 

"Will  Cousin  Edgar  be  pleased?"  There  was  no  real 
question  of  this ;  the  ten  minutes  when  her  nose  was  buried 
in  his  shoulder  had  revealed  to  them  both  an  affinity  as 
indisputable  as  one's  dinner,  as  ethereal  as  angel-cake. 

The  water-works  now  lay  behind;  and  before  long  the 
street  ended,  most  surprisingly,  in  a  scrambled  lot  of 
buildings,  an  iron  rail,  and  the  river — entirely  unbridged. 
How,  then,  did  people  proceed?  Apparently  by  way  of  a 
street  to  the  right. 

The  roller-skates  clumped  gallantly  over  cobble-stones, 
among  trucks  and  vans,  to  Rush  Street,  and  she  set  her- 
self to  negotiating  the  ascent  of  the  bridge,  which  had 
to  be  done  obliquely,  with  wild  grapplings  of  passers-by 
when  the  tendency  to  roll  backward  seemed  overmastering. 
What  if  the  bridge  should  turn  when  she  was  half-way 
across  ?  There  was  a  pleasing  horror  in  the  thought  .  .  . 
Suppose  it  should  turn,  and  stick  before  it  got  back,  and 
suppose  she  should  have  to  stay  on  the  bridge  all  day  and 
all  night,  and  Mamma  would  look  for  her  everywhere  .  .  . 
And  a  tug  might  come  to  take  her  off  the  bridge — the 
shore  was  a  very  short  distance  away;  the  tug  would 
hardly  have  to  move,  one  end  would  touch  the  bank  while 
the  other  touched  the  bridge  .  .  . 

Putting  her  chin  on  the  railing,  she  dreamed  for  some 
time,  and  gazed  at  the  slimy  river,  which  bore  on  its  breast 
a  bushel  or  so  of  potatoes,  two  loaves  of  bread,  an  old 
hat,  and  sundries. 


32    THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS 

There  was  a  difficult  fording  of  the  stream  of  traffic 
after  she  left  the  river.  Coachmen  and  draymen  shouted 
at  her,  and  pulled  their  horses  up  short;  but  she  passed 
along  heedless  of  the  commotion,  and  launched  down  that 
dirty,  spice-breathing  way  which  properly  brought-up 
children  used  to  call  Coffee  Street.  Each  danger  she  es- 
caped was  expunged  at  once  from  her  memory,  and  she 
faced  the  succeeding  crossings  as  insouciant  as  Venus  step- 
ping from  her  fluted  shell. 

There  was  now  a  long  pull  ahead,  for  Great-Uncle 
Joshua  lived  near  18th  Street;  but  with  a  broad  sidewalk, 
a  jolly  June  day,  and  benevolent  passers-by,  one  could 
keep  up  one's  heart.  The  skates  rolled  on  and  on,  grating 
one's  whole  spine  when  the  sidewalk  was  rough,  and  as- 
suaging one's  nei  es  when  it  was  smooth.  After  a  time 
the  Logan  monument  was  won,  and  then  the  Twelfth  Street 
Station ;  and  one  could  feel  that  the  end  was  in  sight. 

From  this  point  of  hope,  how  came  the  descent?  How 
did  it  befall  that  a  despairing  child  pressed  Great-Uncle 
Joshua's  door-bell  between  the  throes  of  dry.  racking 
sobs  ? 

Tt  is  known  that  there  is  a  car-track  on  18th  Street. 
Being  so  near  her  goal,  Diantha  chose  to  disregard  a  slight 
wobbling  in  one  of  her  skates,  and  was  in  the  middle  of  the 
tracks  before  she  perceived  a  street-car  looming  over 
her.  With  a  gasp  and  a  scrambling  bound  she  launched 
herself  out  of  its  way ;  the  toe-clamps  of  her  skate  slipped 
off,  the  ankle-strap  broke:  she  stood  on  one  skate  and 
watched  its  precious  twin  being  whirled  and  ground  under 
the  wheels,  and  dragged  off  down  the  street.  With  a  pite- 
ous cry  she  ran  after  the  street-car,  but  it  gave  her  no 
heed.  She  looked  wildly  along  the  track  for  some  ,crippled 
wreck,  but  none  was  to  be  seen.  The  car  swung  its  pon- 
derous haunches  around  the  corner  into  Indiana  Avenue, 
and  was  lost  to  view. 

Diantha  was  first  stunned,  then  sick.  She  fought  with 
her  tears,  but  they  swept  her  away.  She  had  now  no 


THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS    33 

means  of  getting  home;  her  father  would  be  dreadfully 
cross ;  above  all,  she  could  never  skate  again  .  .  .  She 
tried  standing  on  the  remaining  skate  and  kicking  herself 
along  with  the  other  foot ;  but  that  was  melancholy  busi- 
ness after  flying  like  Mercury  on  two  winged  shins.  She 
preferred  to  sit  down  on  a  step  and  remove  the  relic  of 
her  happiness,  and  walk  in  dejection  to  Uncle  Joshua's. 

"Good  gracious,  child,  what's  the  matter  wid  ye?"  ejac- 
ulated Rhoda,  opening  the  door.  "Why,  Lord  save  us, 
it's  little  Miss  Diantha.  Come  in."  The  minute  Diantha 
was  inside,  Rhoda  enveloped  her  in  a  bear-hug,  dried  her 
tears,  petted  her,  took  her  to  the  pantry  for  a  "nice 
drink  of  wather." 

"What  is  it,  Rhoda?"  called  Cousin  Edgar,  over  the 
banisters.  "If  it's  a  beggar,  give  her  one  of  those  cards." 

"It's  me,  Cousin  Edgar,"  called  Diantha. 

"For  mercy's  sake!  Come  on  up — come  up.  It  seems 
to  me  you  always  cry  when  you  come  over  here!" 

Diantha  gave  a  shamefaced  chuckle. 

"Rhoda,  bring  Miss  Diantha  up  in  the  elevator,  to  take 
her  mind  off  her  troubles." 

The  elevator  was  a  perilous  dark  cubby-hole  worked  by 
what  Rhoda  called  "elbow-grease,"  and  the  two  of  them 
made  a  tight  fit  of  it;  the  pulleys  rumbled  at  the  end  of 
the  shaft.  "Don't  be  scared,"  said  Rhoda.  "Yer  great- 
aunt  used  to  ride  in  it  regular,  and  her  bones  were  brittler 
than  yours." 

"I'm  not  scared,"  said  Diantha.  She  had  indeed  stopped 
crying,  in  the  face  of  this  new  experience. 

Cousin  Edgar's  sitting-room  upstairs  was  less  majestic 
than  the  rest  of  the  house,  and  one  could  enjoy  oneself 
there  without  feeling  that  one  was  laughing  in  church. 
Its  outstanding  feature  was  an  aquarium  in  the  southern 
bay,  in  which  floated  exquisite  fish,  marvels  of  color. 
Near  this  was  a  peculiarly  deep  lounge-chair,  with  a  table 
that  fitted  across  its  arms  for  reading  and  writing. 
There  were  so  many  books  around  the  walls  that  they  were 


34,     THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS 

arranged  on  stepped  shelves,  the  back  tier  of  volumes 
peeping  over  the  heads  of  the  front  tier.  Above  the  fire- 
place a  painting  was  let  into  the  wood  paneling, — a  land- 
scape which  made  Diantha  think  of  music,  although  it 
represented  only  a  meadow  full  of  mist,  and  a  yellow  light 
in  the  sky  behind  some  leafless  trees. 

This  room  Diantha  was  to  know  better  than  any  other, 
and  it  became  her  university.  Not,  however,  having  the 
prophetic  gift,  she  observed  only  that  there  was  much  in 
it  to  stimulate  her  curiosity.  Cousin  Edgar  had  settled 
far  down  in  his  chair,  and  pointed  to  a  sturdy  French 
tabouret,  which  she  drew  up  beside  him. 

"Well,  what  was  it  this  time?"  he  asked. 

The  dreadful  history  of  the  roller-skate  was  told,  from 
its  inception: — her  learning  to  skate  in  less  than  a  week, 
so  as  to  be  able  to  pay  this  private  visit  to  Cousin  Edgar ; 
her  successful  voyage ;  the  catastrophe ;  the  probable  limi- 
tations of  her  future  activity. 

"And  so  I  suppose  you'll  walk  home?"  he  enquired. 
One  of  his  eyebrows  ran  up  and  the  other  down  as  he 
spoke. 

"Yes,"  said  Diantha  drooping.  She  had  hoped  he  would 
suggest  lending  her  a  dime  or  at  least  a  nickel,  but  ap- 
parently even  the  most  clairvoyant  of  men  had  his  obtuse 
corners. 

"Ah !"  said  Cousin  Edgar.  "I'm  sorry  you  put  yourself 
to  so  much  trouble  to  come  to  see  me.  I  get  all  the  plea- 
sure, and  you  get  all  the  inconvenience.  That  doesn't 
seem  fair,  does  it?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  mind,"  said  Diantha,  with  a  quivering  lip. 
"I  wanted  to  see  you." 

"For  the  Lord's  sake,  don't  cry  again!"  exclaimed  her 
host.  "Tears  are  very  intriguing  in  moderation ;  but  you 
must  remember  I've  hardly  seen  you  do  anything  but  cry. 
Show  me  what  a  brave  little  man  you  can  be  now,  and 
forget  the  old  skate.  You  had  a  good  time  with  it,  and 
it's  gone,  so  you  must  have  a  good  time  without  it." 


THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS    35 

Diantha  made  a  colossal  effort.  "What  pretty  fishes !" 
she  whispered.  From  this  point  they  conversed  famously 
for  a  time. 

"You  must  stay  to  lunch,"  said  Cousin  Edgar.  "Even 
the  strongest  man  couldn't  walk  to  the  South  Side  und 
back  without  nourishment.  It's  in  the  city  charter  that 
way  .  .  .  You'd  better  telephone  Amy,  and  tell  her 
you'll  be  home  before  supper.  Then  we  can  talk  in  peace 
for  a  long  time." 

He  instructed  her  how  to  telephone  her  house,  and 
listened  with  pleasure  to  her  precise  New  England  utter- 
ance. He  looked  at  her  reedy  slightness  as  she  bent  back 
against  a  table,  holding  the  telephone,  and  thought  to 
himself  that  the  reason  she  cried  was  because  she  was  all 
nerves ;  and  he  wished  Amy  and  Vesey  had  been  other  than 
they  were,  for  Diantha's  sake.  But  there  was  a  straight 
purity  about  her  brow,  a  fineness  in  the  curve  of  her  lip, 
which  seemed  to  promise  that  though  she  might  suffer 
from  jangled  nerves,  she  would  suffer  nobly. 

In  the  dining-room  the  carpet  was  thick,  the  chairs 
were  upholstered  with  deep  springs  that  let  one  down  till 
one's  nose  barely  came  up  to  the  level  of  one's  soup-plate ; 
the  spoons  weighed  as  much  as  pokers,  the  tumblers  were 
cut  glass. 

Great-Uncle  Joshua  was  delighted  to  welcome  her.  In 
civilian  clothes  he  looked  even  more  wistful  than  in  the 
panoply  of  a  veteran,  and  this  expression  was  odd  in 
one  who  had  made  his  way  and  built  up  his  fortune  among 
strong  men,  who  had  been  tested  by  the  Civil  War  and 
again  by  the  Chicago  fire.  It  had  come  upon  him  since  his 
wife  Lucinda's  death,  and  Tolman  privately  analyzed  it  to 
mean  that  "Father  was  losing  his  grip."  Edgar,  more 
sensitive,  sometimes  looked  at  him  and  wondered  whether 
a  dreamer  had  always  been  behind  the  crude  shell  of  the 
pioneer,  and  was  only  now  coming  into  his  own ;  but  his 
father  was  practically  inarticulate  outside  of  the  runway 
of  daily  affairs,  and  gave  no  clue  to  the  visions  that  passed 


36    THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS 

before  his  old  blue  eyes.  He  sat  for  hours  sucking  at  an 
empty  pipe,  thinking  long  thoughts,  smiling,  frowning, 
making  impetuous  gestures.  He  was  so  thoroughly  sane 
in  all  the  affairs  of  life  that  this  vagary  passed  without 
unkind  comment. 

"Father,"  said  Edgar  at  the  table,  "you're  driving  out 
this  afternoon,  aren't  you?" 

"Why,  yes.     Carney  is  coming  around  at  three." 

"Don't  you  want  to  take  Diantha  along,  and  buy  her 
a  new  roller-skate  or  two,  and  land  her  at  home?"  and 
he  briefly  sketched  the  morning's  tragedy. 

"By  all  means.     Yes,  my  dear." 

Diantha  looked  ecstatically  from  one  to  the  other  of 
her  benefactors,  and  her  hands  flew  to  her  throat  in  a 
characteristic  gesture  of  emotion.  Cousin  Edgar  gave 
her  a  look  which  told  her  she  had  no  need  to  thank  him 
in  words. 

"Where's  Eddie?"  asked  Uncle  Joshua,  suddenly. 

"Late  as  usual,"  answered  his  son,  with  some  morose- 
ness.  "He  goes  gallivanting  on  a  sketch-class  every  Satur- 
day morning,  and  comes  back  consumed  with  admiration 
for  his  own  genius.  He  may  not  get  home  at  all,  or  he 
may  drift  in  at  two  o'clock,  as  ravenous  as  a  hyena." 

Cousin  Edgar's  voice  had  a  jarring  note  as  he  spoke 
of  his  boy.  It  was  the  one  theme  over  which  he  lost  his 
philosophic  calm. 

In  effect,  when  the  salad  was  on  the  table.  Eddie  made 
his  appearance. 

"You  smell  to  heaven!"  said  his  father.  "Speak  to 
your  cousin,  can't  you?" 

Eddie  shot  a  sullen  look  at  the  occupants  of  the  table. 
"I  sat  on  my  palette,"  he  explained  with  some  constraint, 
"and  they  had  to  clean  me  off  with  turpentine.  It  does 
smell  horrid,  unless  you  happen  to  like  it.  Hello,  Dian- 
tha." 

"Where  did  you  go,  Eddie?"  inquired  his  grandfather, 
mildly. 


THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS    37 

"Out  to  Jackson  Park.  They  posed  a  model  against 
the  water.  It  was  great,  but  much  too  hard  for  me." 

"Are  you  a  painter?"  breathed  Diantha,  looking  at 
him  with  her  large  eyes. 

"Not  yet,"  said  Eddie  to  the  eyes;  and  there  was  an 
arrogance  in  his  tone  which  caused  his  father  to  chastise 
a  bit  of  cheese  silently  with  his  fork.  "I  go  every  Satur- 
day," he  further  said  to  the  eyes,  "and  I  do  what  I  can 
between  times." 

"May  I  see  your  pictures?"  asked  Diantha. 

"You  can  see  them,  but  they're  not  much,"  he  said.  "If 
you'll  come  up  to  the  ballroom  after  lunch  I'll  give  you  an 
exhibition." 

Eddie  was  not  prepossessing  in  appearance.  He  was 
sallow  like  his  father,  more  rugged  than  his  father,  with 
an  ugly,  unhappy  look  about  the  mouth.  Edgar's  eye- 
brows were  angular  and  strongly  marked,  giving  his  face 
distinction,  while  Eddie's  were  broad  and  heavy,  and  con- 
tinued sparsely  across  between  his  eyes.  His  manners 
were  far  from  pretty;  and  he  was  particularly  tired  of 
the  comparisons  which  were  often  drawn  against  himself 
and  in  favor  of  his  cousin  Fanning  Marriott.  Between 
these  two  there  was  never  any  real  sympathy. 

This,  although  he  did  not  yet  know  it,  was  a  red-letter 
day  in  Eddie's  life,  for  it  was  the  day  he  first  fell  in 
love.  Eddie's  heart  was  not  like  anyone  else's,  and  I  shall 
have  more  to  say  of  it  hereafter;  let  it  suffice  for  the 
present  that  Diantha  did  not  suspect  her  conquest  till 
years  later. 

He  took  her  up  to  the  third  floor,  and  led  her  through  a 
maze  of  turning-lathes,  magnetos,  stereopticons,  White- 
ley  exercisers,  into  the  corner  dedicated  to  his  latest  hobby. 
Here  were  easels  and  palettes  and  paint-boxes,  sketches, 
compositions,  heaps  of  drawings.  He  showed  her  all  his 
work,  meticulously,  and  told  her  what  he  had  intended  in 
each  instance.  She  looked  at  it  all  with  her  deep-gray 
eyes,  and  forebore  to  say  how  little  she  responded  to 


38    THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS 

these  expressions  of  intention.  To  an  artist  Eddie's  work 
would  have  shown  some  slight  promise:  Diantha  merely 
wondered  if  people  looked  as  ugly  to  him  as  he  drew 
them. 

Eddie  asked  no  more  than  that  she  should  gaze  forever 
at  his  bungled  canvasses. 

"Sit  still,"  said  he,  "while  I  sketch  you." 

She  sat  hunched  like  a  frightened  rabbit,  while  he  made 
three  false  starts  and  tore  them  up;  then  she  decided  to 
go  downstairs. 

"What  have  people  told  you  about  me,  Diantha  ?"  asked 
Cousin  Edgar. 

"Nothing,"  replied  Diantha,  honestly,  after  reflection. 
*M3nly  that  you  were  sick,  and  lived  here  at  Uncle 
Joshua's." 

She  could  not  have  said  anything  to  hurt  him  more. 

"Sic  transit  gloria  mundi,"  he  said.  "For  a  while  I 
was  the  most  famous  member  of  the  family,  and  I  put 
the  name  of  Marriott  on  the  front  page  of  the  papers." 

"How?" 

"Several  ways.  It  was  fun.  But  it  went  to  pieces  all 
at  once.  I  ...  I  wasn't  strong  enough  for  my  ambi- 
tions." 

"Is  that  why  you  are  sick?" 

"I'm  not  sick,  I'm  burnt  out — used  up — scrapped.  I 
had  three  happy  years,  and  three  years  of  hell,  and  then 
the  finish.  When  it  began  I  was  twenty-seven,  and  at  the 
end  I  was  two  hundred  and  ten." 

"What  did  you  do?" 

"Well,  I  was  a  legislator.  It's  the  most  interesting  job 
in  the  world,  if  you  have  an  aptitude  for  it." 

"Was  that  what  made  you  unhappy?" 

"Oh,  that, — no.  That  amused  me.  No,  it  was  squab- 
bling with  my  wife  that  was  hell.  I  have  no  business  to 
say  disagreeable  things  to  you,  and  use  strong  language." 

"Things  are  often  very  disagreeable,"  said  Diantha, 
"and  you  might  as  well  talk  about  them." 


THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS    39 

"You  poor  little  monkey !"  said  Cousin  Edgar.  "Don't 
get  any  more  worldly  knowledge  into  your  head  till  you're 
seven  years  older.  You  must  come  over  here  whenever 
you  can,  and  tell  me  what  you  think  about,  and  I'll  tell 
you  what  you  ought  to  think  about,  and  we'll  grow  up  in 
Arcadia.  ...  Is  that  a  bargain?" 

She  gave  him  her  hand  on  it. 


IV 

THE  following  day  was  a  lively  one  on  Hickory  Place. 
The  echoes  of  Diantha's  exploit,  culminating  in  her  de- 
scent from  a  brougham,  had  not  died  away  when  a  mutiny 
broke  out. 

"Babes,"  said  Vesey,  "we're  going  over  to  see  Cousin 
Tolman  after  lunch." 

"When  were  we  invited?"  asked  Mat,  noncommittal. 

"Yesterday."  But  Mat  saw  by  his  mother's  face  that 
this  was  not  so. 

"I'm  busy  this  afternoon,"  said  he.  "Right  after 
church  I'm  going  off  with  a  fellow." 

"The  deuce  you  are!"  cried  his  father.  "Your  mother 
and  I  want  you  with  us." 

"I'm  not  going  where  I'm  not  wanted." 

"I  didn't  notice  any  of  this  punctiliousness  when  you 
heard  about  Diantha  strolling  across  town  to  see  her 
cousins." 

"Di's  a  kid,  and  it's  different." 

"I  was  invited  beforehand,"  put  in  Diantha,  "Cousin 
Edgar  specially  asked  me  to  come." 

"Mat,  you  must  come  along,  we'll  talk  no  more  about 
it." 

"I'm  not  going,  and  you  know  perfectly  well  you've 
no  way  of  forcing  me  to." 

Amy's  face  expressed  pain  during  this  unseemly  tilt, 
but  she  had  no  influence  to  exert.  Diantha  sat  observant. 

"Well,"  said  Vesey,  retreating,  "the  other  two  will  be 
enough." 

Mat  whirled  on  Diantha.     "Do  you  want  to  go,  Di?" 

"No,  Mat." 

40 


THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS    41 

"If  you  had  a  scrap  of  spirit  you'd  put  your  foot  down, 
too." 

"Mat !"  said  Amy  sharply.  "Diantha  doesn't  need  your 
advice." 

"I  think  she  does,"  said  Mat,  rising  from  the  table,  and 
walking  away  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  to  be  seen 
no  more  that  day. 

After  luncheon,  a  thorough  scrubbing  was  performed 
on  the  less  spirited  members  of  the  household,  with  atten- 
tion to  necks  and  ears  at  which  Herby  always  rebelled. 
He  was  nine  years  old,  but  juvenile  beyond  the  wont  of 
his  contemporaries.  Vesey  polished  his  plug-hat  with  his 
elbow,  Amy  assumed  her  gold  watch  and  chain.  The 
passage  to  the  big  house  on  the  corner  seemed  all  too 
short  for  Amy  and  Diantha,  who  looked  forward  to  an 
ordeal. 

"Best  foot  forward,  my  hearties !"  hissed  Vesey  during 
the  instant  before  the  door  opened. 

The  butler  seemed  surprised  to  see  them,  but  asked 
them  to  step  in.  This  they  accordingly  did,  and  then 
huddled  together  in  the  hall  while  he  tripped  upstairs. 

Tolman's  house  was  handsome  and  substantial  in  a 
newer  style  than  his  father's.  The  entrance  on  Hickory 
Place  had  vestibule  doors  of  wrought  iron  and  glass ;  the 
curtains  were  flat  strips  of  embroidered  linen  inset  with 
lace;  the  hall  itself,  severely  bounded  by  gray  stone  walls 
hung  with  tapestries,  was  made  habitable  only  by  Italian 
chairs  with  narrow  red  velvet  seats  and  perpendicular 
backs.  A  huge  carved  mantel  overhung  the  yawning  void 
of  the  hearth.  The  stairs  swept  grandiosely  upward. 
Through  the  doors  on  the  left  one  could  see  the  dining- 
table  not  yet  cleared  of  luncheon,  and  the  lake  flashing  blue 
rays  in  the  background.  To  the  right  were  a  billiard- 
room  and  a  little  reception-room,  side  by  side.  Diantha 
was  far  more  impressed  than  at  Uncle  Joshua's,  though 
if  that  resembled  a  church,  this  was  more  like  a  peculiarly 
superb  hotel. 


42     THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS 

Heels  were  heard  tapping  across  the  hall  above;  some- 
one descended  the  stairs — Cousin  Daisy.  There  was  a 
faint  fold  in  her  brow. 

"So  nice  of  you,  Amy.  And  you,  Vesey.  You  must 
come  up.  We  have  had  a  few  guests  to  luncheon,  and 
Gilbert  O'Hara  has  been  playing  the  piano  to  help  along 
digestion.  I  think  I'll  send  the  children  up  with  Potter 
to  Josie's  room;  I  didn't  let  her  come  down  to-day,  and 
she'll  be  delighted  to  see  them ;  I  know  she's  bored  to  death, 
— Potter,  will  you  take  Miss  Diantha  and  Master  Herbert 
up  to  the  nursery?  Come  with  me,  Amy.  Will  you  leave 
your  wraps?  No?" 

The  parents  disappeared,  and  the  children  were  left  to 
the  mercy  of  a  butler  who  was  all  gray  like  a  wraith, 
his  skin,  his  lips,  the  iris  of  his  eyes,  and  the  sparse  hairs 
of  his  head.  He  wore  little  side-burns,  horrible  of  aspect 
to  Herby.  The  two  little  Powells  followed  him  up  the 
stairs,  treading  painfully  in  their  squeaky  shoes,  while  a 
babble  of  polite  enjoyment  proceeded  from  the  drawing- 
room.  Silence  fell  just  as  they  reached  the  first  floor, 
and  then  a  series  of  arpeggios  from  the  piano.  The  chil- 
dren stopped,  fascinated,  behind  a  little  console  and  peered 
around  the  corner  into  a  roomful  of  well-fed  adults,  who 
were  lounging  in  easy-chairs,  smoking  or  sipping  coffee. 
A  young  man  sat  on  the  piano-bench,  with  his  right  foot 
on  the  pedal,  and  his  left  leg  extended  straight  across  the 
floor;  he  had  curly  yellow  hair,  and  glasses  pinching  the 
concave  bridge  of  his  nose,  and  a  lean  chin  scooped  out 
under  the  jaw-bone. 

Potter  tried  to  induce  his  charges  to  ascend,  but  they 
were  spellbound.  They  saw  Papa  and  Mamma  whisper- 
ing to  Cousin  Daisy  over  by  the  window ;  they  saw  a  harp, 
— unfamiliar,  romantic  object, — in  one  corner:  on  the 
whole  there  was  much  to  observe. 

The  arpeggios  were  broken  by  three  smashing  chords, 
dropped  from  the  shoulder,  and  Herby  jumped  half  out  of 


THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS    43 

his  skin.  As  in  a  nightmare,  Diantha  saw  the  inevitable — 
the  insecure  table  received  an  impetus  from  him,  and 
straightway  a  vase  was  dashed  to  earth,  a  vase  full  of 
American  Beauties.  The  porcelain  flew  into  bits,  a  lake 
spread  over  the  floor  and  dripped  down  into  the  lower 
hall.  All  eyes  in  the  drawing-room  answered  the  stimulus 
of  sound. 

Diantha  took  Herby's  hand  and  scampered  upstairs  in 
very  panic,  leaving  Potter  amid  the  wreckage ;  they  paused 
on  the  next  floor  while  Cousin  Daisy's  laugh  was  heard, 
assuring  the  world  that  it  was  nothing  at  all,  no  harm 
had  been  done;  it  was  a  horrid  vase — a  wedding  present 
from  one  of  Tolman's  relations. 

They  dared  go  no  farther  amid  ominous  closed  doors. 
For  five  minutes  they  stood  transfixed,  while  Potter  noise- 
lessly abolished  the  vestiges  of  the  accident,  and  Gilbert 
O'Hara  continued  to  perform  arpeggios.  Diantha  wished 
passionately  to  die — if  one  could  die  and  take  one's  corpse 
with  one  to  heaven  through  a  skylight — anything1  to 
avoid  descending  those  stairs  again,  in  full  view  of  the 
multitude ! 

A  bench  was  under  the  hall-window,  and  upon  this  the 
little  Powells  sat  miserably.  Neither  Josie  nor  the  divine 
Fanning  happened  by,  and  they  were  only  rediscovered 
when  Potter  was  sent  to  summon  them, — his  features  ex- 
pressing grave  distaste  for  their  personalities, — for  de- 
parture. 

Meanwhile  Gilbert  O'Hara  reached  the  end  of  his  reper- 
toire. A  young  matron  smartly  dressed  in  white  serge 
broke  up  the  party  by  springing  to  her  feet  and  shouting 
to  her  Jocko  a  reminder  that  they  had  people  coming  in 
for  bridge  at  home  half-an-hour  ago.  "It's  been  so  amus- 
ing, Mrs.  Marriott,  I'd  no  idea  of  the  time."  ...  In 
three  minutes  the  luncheon  had  melted  completely  away. 

"Well,  Amy !"  said  Tolman.  "Now  we  can  have  a  reg- 
ular visit  about  old  times." 


44    THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS 

"They're  a  long  way  back,  Tolman." 

"You  remember  Buck,  and  Len  and  me,  that  used  to  go 
tip  to  Springfield  together?" 

"Dear  old  Buck — what's  become  of  him?" 

"Oh,  he's  a  broker,  lives  on  Long  Island.  Do  you 
remember  how  they  used  to  bait  your  father  about 
Blaine?" 

"Young  scoundrels  you  were.  Do  you  remember  your 
first  love,  Olivia  Baxter?" 

"Lord,  yes,  and  the  time  I  was  engaged  to  Dora,  and 
something  came  between  us  .  .  ." 

"Something?  My  dear  Tolman,  7  was  that  something. 
You've  probably  forgotten  if  you  ever  knew.  I  did  it 
craftily.  I  didn't  want  you  thrown  away  on  Dora  .  .  ." 

In  talking  to  Tolman,  Amy  came  as  near  to  recovering 
her  lost  vivacity  as  was  ever  possible.  Vesey  stared  at 
her  in  amazement,  while  she  renewed  her  youth  with  her 
cousin.  Daisy,  chatting  to  him,  listened  with  half  an 
ear  to  the  other  dialogue. 

"...  I'm  certainly  glad  to  have  you  in  Chicago," 
said  Tolman,  heartily.  "You  remind  me  of  old  times 
that  were  awfully  jolly  .  .  .  Tell  me  about  your  plans." 

Vesey's  expression  became  fiercely  concentrated  in  his 
effort  to  influence  his  wife's  reply,  while  continuing  to 
exchange  banalities  with  Daisy;  but  Amy  was  a  spouse 
unworthy  of  his  training. 

"Nothing  very  special,  Tolman,"  she  said,  dropping 
back  into  the  drab  manner  of  her  middle-age.  "Vesey's 
business  called  him  here.  I  expect  I'll  send  the  children  to 
school,  and  I'll  have  plenty  to  do,  keeping  house." 

"You  were  always  a  bully  good  cook." 

"I've  practiced  a  lot  since  you  saw  me,"  she  said  with 
a  faint  smile. 

"Well,  if  you  want  any  advice,  you  just  come  to  me, 
and  we'll  talk  things  over  personally,  and  perhaps  I  can 
do  something  for  you.  You've  got  a  nice  bunch  of  little 
Powells." 


THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS    45 

"Tolman,  I  could  cry  when  I  think  of  their  breaking 
your  beautiful  vase." 

"Good  riddance,  my  dear.  We've  got  so  many,  Daisy 
keeps  'em  stored  in  the  basement." 

Vesey  fidgeted.  "Why  doesn't  she  talk  to  some  pur- 
pose?" But  as  if  Daisy  knew  what  turn  matters  would 
take  if  she  let  him  intrude,  she  held  him  firmly  to  her  wing 
of  the  conversation.  And  so,  uneventfully,  the  call  drew 
to  a  close,  before  Tolman  had  offered  to  educate  the  chil- 
dren, furnish  the  house,  or  subsidize  any  of  Vesey's  Land 
Development  Companies.  Vesey  felt  justly  vexed. 

"You  must  come  again  soon,"  said  Tolman,  holding 
Amy's  hand.  "Daisy,  how  about  lunch  next  Sunday?" 

"Oh,  my  dear,  have  you  forgotten  we're  moving  up  to 
Lake  Forest  Thursday?  They  must  come  out  to  spend 
the  night  with  us  some  time." 

"Not  half  bad,"  said  Vesey  on  the  way  home.  "Though 
I  must  say,  my  lovely  wife,  that  you  let  your  opportuni- 
ties slide  disgracefully." 

"Vesey,  I  can't  sit  up  and  beg !" 

"I  suppose  not,  no.  You're  not  made  for  it.  I  think 
we'll  come  out  just  as  well  in  the  long  run." 

"I  was  so  shaken  by  that  dreadful  accident  .  .  . 
Herby  .  .  ." 

"Herby's  a  marked  man,  anyway.  They'll  never  for- 
get him  again.  If  he  lives  to  be  great,  they'll  tell  at 
dinner-parties  how  he  kicked  over  the  jardiniere  when  he 
was  nine." 

"And  I  did  feel  confused  when  I  found  we  had  walked 
in  on  other  guests." 

"We've  as  good  a  right  to  visit  Tolman  Marriott  as 
they  have." 

"Yes,  but  they  are  such  smart  people,  Vesey.  They 
dress  so  well,  they  have  so  much  assurance.  I  never  feel 
at  ease — I  always  think  they're  looking  me  over." 

"What  makes  them  smart  people?  The  very  fact  that 
they  have  assurance.  If  you'd  only  hold  your  head  up, 


46    THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS 

Amy,  you  could  give  odds  to  any  of  'em."  By  this  time 
they  were  in  their  own  modest  drawing-room,  and  Vesey 
was  taking  off  his  patent-leather  boots  preparatory  to  a 
long,  lazy  afternoon  with  the  Sunday  paper. 

"It's  pitiable,  the  way  you  let  people  tramp  on  you. 
You've  got  looks,  you've  got  breeding,  you've  got  educa- 
tion, you've  got  a  fond  husband  and  three  handsome  chil- 
dren, and  some  day  you'll  have  buckets  of  money.  What 
more  do  you  want  before  you  set  up  as  a  smart  society 
woman?  Eh?"  and  he  made  as  if  to  pinch  her  ear. 

The  slight,  weary  movement  of  the  head  with  which  she 
avoided  this  attention  was  most  indicative;  it  was  a  for- 
mal and  half-hearted  protest,  an  assertion  of  some  last 
unvalued  trace  of  superiority. 

Long  after  Diantha  had  gone  to  bed,  she  heard  a 
scratching  on  the  panel  of  her  door. 

"Quee-coo !"  she  called  softly. 

Mat  came  in  noiselessly  in  his  socks,  and  sat  on  the 
edge  of  her  bed. 

"Tell  me  about  it,"  he  whispered. 

She  went  through  the  whole  horrid  tale. 

"Darn  sycophants!"  he  hissed.  "I  don't  see  why  you 
stand  for  it." 

Diantha  patted  his  hand,  admitting  her  weak  tolerance. 

"Sometimes  I  think  I'll  just  clear  out  and  go  West  and 
make  my  own  way." 

"I  don't  believe  you'll  do  that,"  her  whisper  was  cool 
and  limpid. 

He  was  stung.     "What  do  you  mean?" 

She  made  no  answer.  Her  meaning,  half-formed  in 
her  own  mind,  was  that  Mat  was  his  father's  son  after 
all. 


"So  he  wouldn't  go,  wouldn't  he?"  Cousin  Edgar  was 
listening  with  interest  to  Diantha's  piquant  narrative  of 
the  past  Sunday's  call. 

"He  ran  away  for  the  day.  I  don't  know  where  he 
went.  Papa  was  as  mad  as  hops;  but  he  doesn't  stay 
mad  long." 

"Tell  me  what  Mat's  like.  Here;  have  some  more." 
This  last  referred  to  a  saucer  of  candied  orange-peel. 
"What's  he  interested  in?  Who  are  his  friends?  What 
does  he  do  with  his  spare  time?" 

"Before  we  left  Utica  he  used  to  play  with  two  boys 
called  Burns ;  they  got  into  lots  of  trouble.  You  know 
there  was  a  gang  from  Mat's  school,  and  another  gang, 
and  they  used  to  fight  in  the  alley." 

"Does  he  like  to  fight?" 

"Yes — well — yes,  I  think  he  does.  Not  always.  Some- 
times when  there  was  a  fight  he'd  come  home,  specially  if 
he  wanted  to  read." 

"Well,  what  did  he  read?" 

"All  sorts  of  re-diculous  books — I  don't  know  what. 
He  and  Ooky  Burns  used  to  edit  a  paper." 

"You  don't  say!    A  real  printed  paper?" 

"Part  was  printed  and  part  was  by  hand.  There  were 
three  copies  every  week.  Ooky  used  to  draw  the  cartoons 
by  hand.  It  was  called  'The  Red  Rag.'  " 

Edgar  almost  sat  up,  in  his  surprise.  "I  wish  you  could 
get  hold  of  a  copy  for  me,"  he  said.  "Do  you  suppose 
Mat  has  any?" 

"Oh,  dear,  yes,  a  boxful." 

"Won't  you  ask  him  to  bring  them  over  some  day,  and 
let  me  read  them?    I  take  great  interest  in  the  Press." 
47 


48    THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS 

"I'll  ask  him." 

"Will  he  come?" 

"I'm  not  sure.     You  see  he  doesn't  like  relations." 

"He  doesn't  like  sponging  on  relations,  you  mean. 
Well,  you  tell  him  to  bring  his  own  lunch  in  a  paper 
parcel  if  he  feels  sensitive,  and  say  I  want  to  get  ac- 
quainted with  him  as  man  to  man.  Will  you  tell  him 
that?" 

"Oh,  yes." 

"What's  your  own  attitude?" 

"What's  that?" 

"I  mean,  how  do  you  feel  about  relatives?" 

"I  like  them" — this  with  a  deep  glance  of  coquetry. 

"You  little  minx !  I  didn't  mean  me,  I  meant  Cousin 
Daisy  and  Tolman  and  the  family." 

"You  mean  do  I  mind  going  to  see  them?" 

"Yes." 

"Well,  when  I  went  to  see  them  you  remember  I  didn't 
see  them  very  much:  but  I  think  I'd  like  Cousin  Tolman 
.  .  .  Cousin  Daisy  doesn't  like  me  .  .  .  She  sent  Mamma 
a  box  of  Josie's  old  dresses  for  me  ...  I'd  rather  eat 
poison  than  wear  them — but  she  says  I  have  to  ... 
They're  much  prettier,  of  course" — she  glanced  down  at 
her  brown  plaid  gingham — "but  they're  twice  too  big. 
Josie's  a  rather  fat  girl.  At  least  she  used  to  be,  and 
these  are  the  dresses  she  used  to  have  ...  I  never  get 
fat." 

"I  suppose  you're  proud  of  your  figure." 

"Oh,  no,"  said  Diantha  complacently.  "But  I  can't 
bear  Josie,  not  anything  about  her.  She's  mean.  If  I 
wore  one  of  those  dresses  to  her  house,  I'll  bet  she'd  tell 
about  it  to  everybody." 

"Is  that  one  of  the  things  you'd  never  do  if  you  had 
the  chance?" 

"Never,  never!"  cried  Diantha,  and  her  eyes  flashed. 
"If  you'd  worn  as  many  old  clothes  as  I  have  ...  !" 

"Diantha,  this  is  a  solemn  question,  and  I  want  you  to 


THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS    49 

answer  me  truthfully.  I  want  you  to  give  me  a  list  of 
three  things  you  would  never  do,  besides  talk  about  what 
happened  to  your  own  old  clothes." 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"I  mean  like  this:  would  you  ever  tell  a  lie?" 

"No,  I  don't  tell  lies, — I  can't  because  I  never  can  re- 
member any.  Mat  can  tell  lies." 

"Well,  then,  you  begin  your  list — 'I  would  never  tell  a 
lie.'  Now  two  more  things." 

"I  can't  think  of  any  more.     You  ask  me." 

"No,  I  want  you  to  think.  Here,  take  this  orange- 
peel,  and  go  and  sit  by  yourself  on  the  stairs  till  you've 
thought;  and  after  you  give  me  your  three  answers,  I'll 
tell  you  the  three  things  Fanning  would  never  do." 

"When  did  you  ask  Fanning?"  Diantha  blushed 
deeply  as  she  spoke  his  name. 

"When  he  was  over  the  other  day." 

"Does  he  come  over  here?" 

"Oh,  yes.  He  comes  in  from  Lake  Forest  and  spends 
the  night  every  now  and  then  during  the  summer.  ...  I 
used  to  have  grown-up  friends,  but  now  I  like  boys  and 
girls  better  .  .  ." 

Diantha  did  not  believe  this,  but  let  it  pass.  The  prom- 
ise of  hearing  something  about  Fanning  filled  her  mind, 
and  with  the  saucer  of  orange-peel,  she  slowly  retired  to 
the  landing  of  the  stairs. 

Light  streamed  in  colored  triangles  through  the  prisms 
of  the  window,  and  lay  on  the  stair-carpet  as  if  one  could 
pick  it  up.  From  below  came  the  restrained  tick  of  the 
hall-clock,  and  out  in  Michigan  Avenue  the  horses'  feet 
went  clop-clopping  by.  The  landing  was  not  uninhabited, 
for  in  the  angle  stood  a  suit  of  Oriental  armor,  tarnished 
and  grotesque,  with  a  helmet  suggestive  of  tusks  and 
yellow  eyeballs.  One's  consciousness  strayed  mildly  from 
the  armor  to  Cousin  Edgar,  from  roller-skates  to  Fan- 
ning, from  old  dresses  to  Josie,  from  Josie  to  Fanning, 
from  Fanning  to  Eddie,  from  Eddie  to  Mat  and  his 


50    THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS 

mutiny  of  Sunday,  from  the  mutiny  to  the  Sunday  call, 
and  so  again  to  Fanning.  What  would  his  three  answers 
be?  Was  it  possible  he  might  come  in  this  afternoon — 
this  minute?  One  would  not  know  his  answers  till  one 
produced  at  least  a  semblance  of  reply  of  one's  own,  and 
how  was  that  possible?  If  Cousin  Edgar  asked  questions, 
one  might  answer  truthfully,  as  one  did  in  school  after 
study;  but  that  was  another  matter  from  sitting  down 
to  seek  abstractions  in  the  void. 

Twenty  minutes  passed — an  incredible  time — before  she 
came  back  with  the  empty  saucer,  and  stood  demurely  in 
front  of  Cousin  Edgar's  chair.  He  slipped  a  marker  into 
a  thick  volume  on  his  book-rest,  and  looked  at  her. 

"Well?" 

"I  would  never  tell  a  lie.  I  would  never  tell  a  secret 
that  Mat  told  me.  I  would  never  go  in  a  field  where  there 
was  a  cow." 

Cousin  Edgar  laughed.  "Those  are  good  answers  if 
they  are  true.  Were  you  trying  to  be  smart  when  you 
thought  them  up?" 

Her  eyelids  flickered  downward.  How  could  one  avoid 
trying  to  be  "smart,"  with  grown-ups  who  paid  the  pre- 
mium of  laughter  for  "smartiness"? 

"It  was  unfair,"  he  admitted.  "But  I  wish  you'd  learn 
to  tell  me  the  real  truth.  We  can't  be  friends  unless  you 
do.  Well,  in  the  course  of  time  I'll  get  to  know  you,  and 
worm  some  better  answers  than  that  out  of  you  without 
your  guessing  it." 

"What  did  Fanning  say?" 

"He  said  ...  I  keep  wondering  how  well  he  knows 
himself;  he  may  be  subject  to  delusions  about  his  own 
magnanimity.  He  is  a  bit  self-conscious,  don't  you 
think?"  (This  was  over  Diantha's  head,  and  she  held 
her  peace.)  "He  said  he  would  never  cheat  in  a  game, 
nor  sneak  out  of  a  fight,  nor  forget  what  he  owed." 

"Of  course  not." 

Cousin  Edgar  began  to  wonder  what  value  abstract 


THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE   POWELLS    51 

virtue  had  in  conduct  for  his  young  kinsfolk,  who  re- 
sponded so  much  as  a  matter  of  course  to  the  obvious 
slogans  of  righteousness.  It  was  to  be  one  of  his  hobbies 
during  the  next  decade  to  find  out. 

After  Diantha  had  quitted  the  house,  he  sat  for  a  long 
time  without  opening  his  book,  setting  himself  anew  some 
of  the  old  problems  which  lay  unsolved  under  the  debris 
of  his  broken  life.  He  had  always  been  introspective,  but 
introspection  turns  bitter  when  it  clarifies  irrevocable 
mistakes,  and  tragically  confirms  the  futility  of  endeavor; 
and  to  escape  from  this  bitterness,  Edgar  Marriott  had 
become  a  philosopher  without  a  system,  watching  his 
friends  for  their  least  considered — that  is  to  say  their 
indicative — actions,  judging  their  capacities  and  achieve- 
ments, and  applying  his  favorite  tests  and  gauges. 

His  idols  had  stood  to  him  for  certain  traits,  the  same 
in  accordance  with  which  he  judged  the  measure  of  his 
own  failure,  and  the  shortcomings  of  those  he  had  loved. 
The  questions  he  had  lately  asked  of  Fanning  and  Diantha 
were  unfruitful  attempts  at  gauging  their  quality. 

Were  they  honest? — so  ran  his  catechism.  Were  they 
honest,  we're  they  generous,  brave  and  loyal?  How  nearly 
did  they  meet  his  standard?  And  at  the  points  wherein 
they  were  lacking,  how  far  could  his  influence  avail  to 
build  up  the  worth  and  solidity  of  his  race? 

Edgar  had  still  the  will  to  action,  and  this  was  a  field 
which  needed  no  physical  vigor  for  the  tilling.  It  lay 
under  his  hand.  How  far  dared  he  usurp  the  function  of 
omniscience,  and  meddle  with  the  fragile  organisms  that 
were  now  springing  toward  their  maturity? 

"It  may  be  wrong  to  meddle,  and  it  may  be  dangerous," 
he  told  himself,  "but  it's  one  of  those  temptations  you 
know  beforehand  you  won't  be  able  to  resist." 

And  meanwhile  young  Eddie  sat  morose  among  his 
malodorous  painting-tools,  and  reacted  with  ferocity 
toward  his  father's  no  less  unbalanced  attempts  at  direc- 
tion. These  two  hid  from  each  other  a  deeply-buried  fond- 


52    THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS 

ness,  never  liberated,  which  had  about  it  something  fatal 
and  desperate.  At  every  move  they  made  one  another  un- 
happy, and  hated  themselves  in  consequence. 


Not  long  after  this,  Vesey  chose  a  breezy  morning  for 
a  call  on  the  financial  head  of  the  family,  who  was  pro- 
tected from  the  outer  world  by  many  mahogany  railings 
and  telephone-switchboards.  Claiming  kinship,  he  pene- 
trated the  sanctum,  smelling  of  leather  and  cigars,  from 
which  Tolman  directed  the  march  of  commerce — he  and 
his  portfolio,  full  of  prospectuses,  letters,  and  alluring 
photographs. 

He  talked  smoothly,  as  one  well  prepared,  for  a  cer- 
tain length  of  time,  and  fluttered  his  printed  matter  be- 
fore Tolman's  amiable  dark  eyes.  However,  after  a  lapse 
of  minutes,  Tolman  quietly  pushed  the  electric  button  on 
his  desk. 

"You're  too  speculative,  Vesey,"  he  said.  "I  haven't 
capital  enough  for  your  sort  of  game.  I'm  one  of  these 
conservative  bankers  you  read  about,  and  this  proposition 
is  a  little  out  of  my  province. — Very  interesting,  yes ; 
some  fellows  might  get  away  with  it" — and  from  his  face 
one  could  not  judge  whether  he  assumed  Vesey  to  be  one 
of  those  fellows — "but  I'm  out  for  steady,  small  returns. 
I — I'm  really  surprised,  your  coming  to  me  about  this 
deal;  you  must  have  known  I'm  not  the  man  for  you. 
How  are  the  children?  Any  more  jardinieres  busted 
lately?  Nice  little  family  .  .  ." 

And  Vesey  found  himself  inducted  into  the  corridor  by 
an  office-boy  with  a  knowing  eye,  which  said  plainly  that 
its  owner  would  not  be  caught  letting  Vesey  through  the 
barrier  again  without  warrant. 

Tolman  sat  back  on  the  hind  legs  of  his  chair,  and 
tapped  the  desk  with  his  fingers ;  then  he  whistled  an  air, 
pulled  his  private  check-book  out  of  a  drawer,  and  drew 
a  check  for  $50  to  the  order  of  Amy  Marriott  Powell. 


VI 

WITH  the  approach  of  autumn,  Joshua  Marriott  began 
to  omit  his  daily  drive  and  trip  to  the  office ;  by  November 
he  was  breakfasting  pretty  regularly  in  bed ;  at  Christmas- 
time he  was  so  feeble  as  to  make  Edgar  hesitate  before 
inviting  the  clan  to  the  usual  celebration.  But  the  old 
gentleman  had  no  idea  of  sparing  himself  that  pleasant 
strain ;  he  took  a  personal  part  in  the  ordering,  and  tried 
to  potter  among  the  shops.  For  days  Rhoda  and  Bridget 
toiled  among  the  substantial  delicacies  of  the  Christmas 
dinner,  and  when  the  time  came,  he  presided  over  the 
turkey  at  his  own  board,  and  pressed  second  helpings 
upon  his  guests,  already  full  to  the  eyes.  The  children, 
imperceptibly  older,  performed  valiantly  with  knife  and 
fork.  Later  they  counted  and  compared  gifts  like  misers, 
and  before  the  day  was  out,  they  had  negotiated  two  or 
three  good  "swaps." 

When  the  house  was  again  silent,  and  Rhoda  had 
picked  up  the  paper  and  ribbon,  Joshua  shuffled  into  the 
parlor,  dim  except  for  the  colored  lights  on  the  tree,  and 
stood  thinking,  as  was  his  habit.  He  was  discovered  some 
time  later,  lying  prone,  his  face  distorted  and  blotched, 
and  his  breathing  stertorous.  The  stroke  was,  according 
to  the  doctor,  far  from  serious ;  but  after  this  time  he 
hardly  left  his  room,  and  spent  hours  in  his  dreaming 
silence. 

Edgar  sat  with  him  day  after  day,  reading  or  writing 
necessary  letters,  and  talking  over  old  times  with  his 
father,  whom  he  had  not  known  intimately  in  spite  of 
their  years  together,  and  whom  he  had  perhaps  under- 
valued on  account  of  the  dominating  personality  of  his 
mother. 


54,    THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS 

Joshua  had  several  pictures  moved  up  to  his  room: — 
the  famous  portrait  of  Lucinda  at  thirty-odd;  a  certain 
water-color,  ill-executed,  showing  the  frame  house  on 
Washington  Street,  from  which  he  had  gone  to  war,  and 
which  had  been  consumed  by  the  fire  of  1871 ;  a  photo- 
graph of  Tolman  twelve  years  old,  and  rendered  mature 
by  a  low-crowned  derby,  holding  by  the  hand  an  Edgar 
four  years  of  age,  wearing  a  plaid  silk  frock  with  short 
sleeves,  and  a  "spit-curl"  across  his  brow. 

On  the  wall  beside  the  window  had  always  hung  a 
miniature  with  a  red-velvet  mat  and  a  deep-boxed  frame. 

"That's  a  sweet  picture  of  mother,"  said  Edgar  one 
day ;  "but  I  hardly  imagine  it's  a  good  likeness.  I'd  never 
recognize  it." 

"Eh?  It  was  very  good  at  the  time."  Joshua  raised 
himself  on  the  sofa  to  peer  at  the  picture.  "That  like- 
ness was  taken  the  year  before  we  were  married,  and  she 
sent  it  out  to  me  in  Chicago.  I  tell  you  I  pretty  near 
burst  a  blood-vessel  when  I  took  it  out  of  the  box.  Cousin 
Mort  brought  it  to  me  when  he  went  through  to  Mil- 
waukee the  first  time. — Yes,  she  changed  a  lot  between  then 
and  the  time  you  remember." 

The  picture  showed  a  girl  of  eighteen,  with  mild,  hazel 
eyes,  and  bands  of  pale-brown  hair  drawn  over  her  ears — • 
a  pretty,  appealing,  undecided  face,  lips  just  parted,  with 
the  corners  drawn  in  by  a  soft  smile.  Comparing  the 
miniature  with  the  portrait,  one  found  the  same  square 
forehead,  but  no  hint  in  the  former  of  that  sharp  angle 
of  the  jaw,  that  shrewd  line  from  the  base  of  the  nostrils 
down,  nor  those  large,  executive-looking  ears,  which  the 
painter  had  bluntly  but  effectively  portrayed. 

"I  suppose  women  aged  earlier  in  those  days,"  said 
Edgar.  "That  picture  looks  older  than  Daisy  does  to- 
day, but  mother  was  ten  years  younger  then  than  Daisy 
is  now." 

"Your  mother  was  ten  times  the  woman  Daisy  is  or  ever 
will  be,"  said  Joshua  with  unwonted  spirit.  Then  his 


THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS    55 

good  smile  returned.  "Daisy's  made  Tolman  an  excellent 
wife,  and  she  has  a  fine,  handsome  lot  of  children."  He 
brooded  some  time  before  going  on. 

"The  reason  your  mother  looked  older  than  her  age," 
he  finally  broke  out,  "was  that  she  did  two  men's  work 
during  the  four  years  of  the  war.  You  weren't  born  then, 
but  Tolman  remembers  some.  She  sent  me  packing  as 
soon  as  they  called  for  volunteers  .  .  .  You  know  the 
Tolmans  back  in  Massachusetts  were  all  red-hot  abolition- 
ists .  .  .  Your  mother  grew  up  overnight,  as  you  might 
say  .  .  .  She  hadn't  ever  expected  we'd  be  separated :  the 
first  years  we  were  married  she  leaned  on  me  for  every- 
thing ...  I  used  to  hire  the  hired  girls,  and  pay  'em  their 
wages,  and  I  used  to  cut  the  grass,  and  mend  the  furni- 
ture, and  make  bargains  with  peddlers  ...  I  used  to  get 
letters  from  her  when  I  was  first  in  camp,  and  they  said 
everything  was  fine;  they  were  full  of  little  jokes  about 
Tolman — he  was  just  a  baby.  But  then  I  had  letters  from 
John  Rackett,  my  foreman,  too,  and  he  told  me  Lucinda 
was  down  at  the  foundry  every  day,  poking  her  nose  into 
the  office  and  the  plant  till  she  knew  just  what  went  on; 
and  pretty  soon  she  was  bringing  in  new  orders,  and 
coming  down  to  oversee  the  filling  of  them;  and  then  she 
fired  a  couple  of  my  men,  and  all  but  broke  up  the  estab- 
lishment, and  Rackett  had  like  to  have  wired  me  to  desert 
and  come  home ;  but  she  put  in  a  pair  of  boys  she  picked 
out  herself,  and  reorganized  the  whole  place;  and  those 
two  boys  were  Benjamin  Bush  Thacher,  who  was  my 
superintendent  up  till  the  fire,  and  then  went  into  the 
Columbian  Trust  Company,  and  gave  Tolman  his  start 
when  he  got  out  of  college;  and  the  other  was  Senator 
Comstock  that  died  last  year.  Yes — your  mother  had  to 
learn  to  be  a  man  and  a  woman  too.  She  taught  Tolman 
his  A  B  C's  just  as  she  taught  you  yours,  only  he  learned 
his  about  the  time  of  the  Wilderness  Campaign;  and  it 
was  that  same  year  you  were  born.  I  never  saw  you  till 
after  Appomattox.  You  ought  to  have  heard  John 


56    THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS 

Rackett  talk  about  Lucinda.  He  said  she  made  three  good 
big  mistakes  in  judgment  within  two  weeks  after  she 
started  in:  but  she  took  all  the  blame  herself,  and  John 
said  those  were  the  last  three  times  she  ever  had  anything 
put  over  on  her.  He  said  she'd  talk  to  the  men  like  a 
Dutch  uncle,  and  she  scared  the  life  right  out  of  them 
.  .  .  She'd  have  made  a  wonderful  man  .  .  .  but  she  was 
a  satisfactory  sort  of  woman  too." 

He  was  silent  again,  and  Edgar  thought  of  his  mother 
as  he  had  known  her  during  his  long  boyhood  illnesses 
and  convalescences, — a  capable,  firm-stepping,  ambitious 
woman,  with  little  surface  warmth,  whom  he  had  yet  un- 
reasonably loved.  Tolman  had  been  her  favorite  son,  per- 
haps because  he  was  forceful  and  solid  and  went  his  own 
way  regardless  of  her  efforts  to  bring  him  up  as  a  future 
President ;  and  Daisy  had  contented  her  well  enough  as  a 
daughter-in-law.  Edgar,  frail  in  health,  temperamental 
and  vain,  mercurial  in  his  moods,  had  never  demanded 
her  respect,  but  she  let  him  poke  fun  at  her,  upset  her 
dignity,  and  rifle  her  cupboards. 

Oddly,  it  was  Edgar  the  undervalued,  who  had  absorbed 
his  mother's  ambitions  and  political  tastes.  Until  his 
health  betrayed  him,  he  had  progressed  along  the  road 
which  for  some  few  leads  to  the  White  House  and  for 
others  to  lesser  political  rank.  But  Lucinda  was  too  much 
a  denizen  of  her  age  to  sympathize  with  child-labor  legis- 
lation— in  fact  she  regarded  this  particular  doctrine  as 
an  unjustifiable  meddling  with  the  rights  of  poor  parents 
— and  Edgar's  wife  Naomi  Cranston  was  a  thorn  in  the 
flesh. 

Edgar  knew  that  his  mother  had  in  some  measure  ham- 
pered his  career  by  her  lack  of  insight:  he  wondered 
whether  her  antipathy  for  Naomi  and  Naomi's  ways  and 
views,  had  been  a  cause,  or  a  result,  of  their  own  failure  to 
make  their  marriage  successful;  whether  with  Lucinda's 
help  instead  of  her  antagonism,  Naomi  might  have  been 
happy,  made  him  happy  .  .  . 


THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS    57 

But  he  had  not  blamed  his  mother  for  acting  in  accord- 
ance with  her  nature;  and  the  riddle  of  his  marriage  was 
not  solved  by  blaming  her  .  .  .  His  thought  strayed  back 
to  her  personality,  her  tastes.  She  had,  as  had  her  hus- 
band, something  of  the  crudity  of  the  pioneer,  and  she 
loved  display.  The  house  was  a  monument  to  her  feeling 
for  grandeur,  with  its  stained-glass  gloom,  its  statues  and 
Sevres  vases  and  deep-framed  oil-paintings.  Lucinda  had 
loved  to  entertain,  notwithstanding  she  was  ill  at  ease  in 
society.  She  became  nervous,  talked  high  and  laughed 
loud,  and  failed  of  wit — all  this  she  realized,  without  being 
able  to  change  her  manner.  She  had  never  been,  in  spite  of 
her  recognized  strength  of  character,  a  figure  in  the  inner 
circle  of  society  as  it  was  constituted  in  her  day,  but 
everyone  knew  and  respected  her.  It  must  be  emphati- 
cally said  that  Lucinda  was  no  snob,  her  hospitality  being 
rather  ample  than  select;  and  one  met  around  her  table 
not  only  the  cultivated  New  Englanders  to  whom  she  was 
allied  by  race,  but  uncouth  and  unpretending  pioneer 
types,  self-made  business  men  with  some  of  whom  she  had 
herself  established  profitable  commercial  relations,  women 
who  had  pooled  their  own  muscular  energy  with  their  hus- 
bands in  establishing  homesteads  on  the  frontier;  and 
failures,  drifters  in  the  backwash  of  progress. 

Joshua  had  been,  the  world  agreed,  under  Lucinda's 
thumb.  It  was  he  in  the  first  instance  who  collected  capi- 
tal enough  for  the  foundry;  but  by  the  end  of  the  war 
Lucinda  had  set  her  stamp  on  its  organization.  Public 
opinion  had  credited  her  with  the  initial  idea  and  much 
of  the  development  of  the  stove-factory  on  which  Joshua's 
first  fortune  was  founded ;  and  it  was  she  who  urged  him 
into  more  and  more  downtown  real-estate  investments,  so 
that  he  had  to  complain  for  years  of  being  "land-poor." 
At  the  time  of  the  fire,  when  the  factory  was  destroyed, 
Lucinda  had  left  her  household  goods  to  burn  if  they 
liked,  while  she  set  herself  to  borrowing  more  capital. 

Edgar  had  always  paid  her  the  tribute  of  thinking  her 


58    THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS 

influence  had  been  paramount  in  the  family;  but  it  now 
struck  him  that  both  in  himself  and  to  a  less  degree  in 
Tolman  were  elements  quite  foreign  to  her  standards. 
From  her,  no  doubt,  he  took  his  own  political  bent,  and 
the  nervous  force  which  in  his  case,  as  it  was  not  sup- 
ported by  an  adequate  physique,  helped  to  burn  out  his 
energies ;  but  his  attitude  of  mind  had  not  come  to  him 
from  her;  it  was  indeed  repugnant  to  her  good  sense,  as 
being  impractical  and  subversive  of  solid  government — 
this  quixotic  bent  for  philanthropic  legislation,  this  un- 
necessary tampering  with  the  status  quo.  Her  family  had 
indeed  been  Abolitionists,  but  certainly  she  had  progressed 
along  another  line;  and  it  was  not  from  her  he  took  his 
interests.  "Wild-goosy"  had  been  her  description  of 
them. 

His  eyes  rested  on  his  father,  who  lay  day-dream- 
ing with  hands  folded  across  his  afghan  rug.  The 
expression  in  his  eyes  reminded  Edgar  of  an  old 
daguerreotype  taken  during  the  war.  It  was  in  a  cabinet 
close  at  hand.  The  tricky  luster  of  the  plate  teased 
him  a  moment  before  he  penetrated  it,  but  soon  he  caught 
the  face,  which  had  the  peculiarly  spiritual  look 
of  the  daguerreotype.  Young  Captain  Marriott  had 
worn  his  hair  long  enough  to  hang  behind  his  ears,  and  a 
dark  beard  made  him  unfamiliar;  but  his  chin  was  lifted 
at  an  angle  which  Edgar  recognized  as  his  own  fighting 
tilt  of  defiance,  and  his  eyes  looked  out  from  under  the 
brim  of  the  field-cap  with  a  steady  radiance  which  was  of 
another  world:  and  it  was  the  same  light  which  even  now 
shone  blue  and  clear  under  his  aged  lids.  On  the  young 
man's  lips  was  the  faintest,  the  most  ethereal  of  smiles — 
"the  smile,"  thought  Edgar,  "of  a  man  who  is  willing  to 
face  death." 

He  had  thought  of  his  father  as  massive ;  but  the  slight 
build  of  the  picture  showed  that  his  mass  had  been  in 
flesh  rather  than  bone-structure.  He  was  much  of  Edgar's 
type,  physically,  and  the  face  was  shaped  like  Edgar's, 


THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS    69 

though  it  had  not  his  cleverness  nor  his  bold  crooked 
brows. 

Edgar  began  wondering  what  his  father  would  have 
been  like  if  he  had  married  some  other  woman  than 
Lucinda  Tolman,  if  after  the  war  he  had  come  back  and 
met  the  world  with  this  dreaming  radiance  in  his  eyes, 
unchecked  by  practical  compulsions,  if  a  brisk  business 
had  not  been  released  into  his  hand,  if  hungry  mouths  had 
not  awaited  his  evening  returns.  There  was  no  doubt  that 
this  face  in  the  shimmering  daguerreotype  was  the  face 
of  an  idealist,  and  an  idealist  more  naive  than  Edgar  had 
ever  been. 

And  yet  nothing  in  his  father's  later  life  had  borne  out 
such  a  prophecy.  He  had  been  honest,  industrious, 
shrewd,  benevolent — never  quixotic.  Looking  again  at 
Lucinda's  portrait,  Edgar  realized  that  the  husband  of 
such  a  woman  could  not  have  remained  quixotic. 

As  he  glanced  about  the  room,  he  saw  with  new  eyes 
certain  time-honored  decorations: — over  the  mantel  a 
sword,  two  pistols  and  a  knapsack,  the  emblems  of 
Joshua's  romantic  and  simple  loyalty;  a  framed  copy  of 
the  Declaration  of  Independence  .  .  .  here  his  thought 
paused.  The  Marriott  stock  was  true-blue  Revolutionary : 
Marriotts  had  fought  under  Washington  through  his 
darkest  days  and  up  to  Yorktown;  a  great-grand-uncle 
had  been  among  the  dead  at  Saratoga  .  .  .  The  Declara- 
tion of  Independence  is  an  imaginative  and  quixotic  docu- 
ment, though  an  essentially  vigorous  one  .  .  . 

On  the  mantel  were  a  great  shell  and  a  spray  of  coral, 
to  which  some  story  clung  in  Edgar's  memory. 

"Father,"  he  said,  "where  did  you  get  that  shell?" 

Joshua  slowly  came  back  from  star-gazing.  "I've  had 
those  since  I  was  nine  years  old.  They've  traveled  a  good 
many  thousand  miles  with  me,  because  I  took  a  fancy 
to  them  when  I  was  a  little  tike.  A  missionary  gave  them 
to  me  when  he  stopped  at  my  father's  house — a  missionary 
from  the  South  Sea  Islands,  called  Burr.  He  used  to  tell 


60     THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS 

about  the  cannibals.  For  a  long  time  I  wanted  to  go  out 
among  the  heathen  and  preach  the  gospel  to  them  .  .  . 
you  know  boys  get  all  manner  of  notions.  I  hung  onto 
those  shells  because  they  made  me  think  of  the  South  Sea 
Islands  ...  I  never  got  to  go  out  there  .  .  . 

"I  kind  of  hoped,"  he  went  on,  "that  one  of  my  children 
might  turn  out  a  missionary  .  .  .  They're  good  sort  of 
men  .  .  .  They're  needed,  too  .  .  .  But  of  course  you 
boys  went  your  own  way,  and  I  never  influenced  you  much 
— never  tried  to — perhaps  I  was  scared  to.  Your  mother 
was  different,  she  had  decided  views  on  everything,  knew 
what  she  liked  and  what  she  didn't  like;  and  she  brought 
you  up  to  be  a  credit  to  the  family,  and  I  didn't  see  any 
need  to  interfere.  It's  hard  to  tell  .  .  ." 

"I  suppose  you  lie  there  and  think  over  your  life  and 
your  plans  and  your  successes  and  failures  .  .  ."  hazarded 
Edgar. 

"Oh,  I  don't  think  very  hard,"  said  Joshua,  with  his 
pleasant  smile.  "An  old  man's  mind  don't  keep  on  the 
track.  I  remember  different  things,  like  when  I  was  a 
little  fellow  up  in  Vermont,  and  when  you  boys  were  small, 
and  about  the  war  ...  If  I'd  planned  things  they  might 
have  come  out  different,  but  I  don't  know  as  they'd  have 
come  out  any  better." 

"No,  planning's  a  waste  of  time." 

"I  like  to  see  these  little  young  chaps  around  the  house, 
and  the  girls.  They  may  turn  into  anything,  later,  you 
know.  They're  a  smart  crowd  of  youngsters." 

"Yes,"  said  Edgar,  thinking  aloud,  "they  may  turn 
into  anything.  They've  all  got  the  Marriott  blood,  what- 
ever that  may  stand  for:  Tolman's  children  have  another 
streak,  Ricky  Pellew  and  his  stylish  daughter;  Amy's 
bunch  haven't  got  Mother's  aggressiveness  mixed  into 
them,  but  they've  got  a  flavor  of  Vesey  Powell,  and  that's 
slippery  stuff;  poor  little  old  Eddie  has  the  warring 
natures  of  two  temperamental  parents,  and  his  mother  is 
as  clever  as  the  crack  of  a  whip  .  .  .  The  Lord  saw  I 


THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS     61 

needed  amusement,  so  he  beset  me  behind  and  before  with 
a  continuous  vaudeville,  and  an  unusually  entertaining 
one." 

His  father  had  ceased  to  listen.  He  never  talked  as 
Edgar  talked,  and  for  years  Edgar  had  looked  down  on 
him.  During  these  long  days  that  preceded  Joshua's 
death,  his  son  longed  to  find  out  the  answers  to  questions 
about  his  father's  personality  which,  he  now  realized,  bore 
upon  the  future  drama  of  the  family ;  but  Joshua,  who  for 
years  had  contented  himself  with  current  conversation  and 
a  few  platitudes,  remained  inarticulate,  and  never  put  into 
words  the  source  of  the  light  which  illuminated  his  aged 
musings. 

After  his  death  Amy  came  over,  and  helped  with  the 
innumerable  affairs  about  the  house.  Daisy  was  also 
present,  red-eyed  and  black-gowned,  and  she  gave  many 
orders,  but  the  smoothness  of  operation  came  from  Amy, 
who  fitted  at  once  into  the  machinery  of  the  household. 
Edgar,  whose  strength  was  not  equal  to  executing  com- 
missions, depended  on  her  entirely,  and  they  talked  much 
together. 

As  if  sorrow  were  her  native  air,  she  was  beautified  while 
she  moved  through  her  work.  Her  weariness  and  timidity 
turned  to  dignity,  her  sad  eyes  were  serene. 

"Amy,"  said  Edgar — she  had  been  arranging  flowers, 
and  he  had  come  in  to  watch;  and  they  were  both 
sobered  by  the  coffin  in  the  room — "you  are  invaluable,  you 
show  a  nobility  .  .  ." 

"Oh,  no,  Edgar,  don't  say  that.  If  there's  one  trait  I 
lack,  it's  nobility." 

"One  can  see  that  you  have  faced  life,  and  stripped  it 
of  non-essentials,  and  learned  endurance." 

"I  am  a  great  coward,"  said  Amy,  in  her  clear  un- 
resonant  voice.  "I  have  been  envying  Uncle  Joshua 
there."  She  did  not  speak  bitterly.  "To  me  it  seems  a 
blessed  state  to  have  lived  your  life  and  performed  your 
duties  and  gone  honorably  to  the  grave.  One  could  rest. 


62    THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS 

One  could  be  sure  then  no  more  was  possible,  that  no  more 
was  expected  of  one.  I  have  so  many  duties  ahead,  they 
terrify  me,"  and  as  she  turned  her  eyes  to  his,  Edgar 
could  see  in  them  a  flinching,  a  lack  of  confidence  in  the 
future;  "if  they  were  all  behind  me,  for  better  or  worse, 
I  would  gladly  die." 

"They're  a  fine  lot  of  children,"  said  he,  answering  her 
thought.  "You've  no  cause  for  anxiety,  they'll  all  live  to 
make  you  proud  of  them." 

She  gave  him  a  wan  smile  of  gratitude,  but — "There  are 
so  many  devils  abroad,"  she  said;  and  he  could  see  they 
were  real  presences  to  her.  "It's  a  miracle  that  any  chil- 
dren grow  up  to  be  the  men  and  women  their  mothers 
want." 

"You  know,  Amy,  you  can  count  on  me  for  any  help 
I'm  able  to  give.  I'm  awfully  interested  in  your  children, 
especially  Diantha,  and  even  if  it  were  none  of  my  busi- 
ness I'd  be  obliged  to  keep  an  eye  on  them." 

"You're  wonderfully  kind  to  them,"  she  said.  But  her 
eyes,  more  expressive  than  her  face,  said  cruelly  to  him,  in 
the  language  of  fear,  "Have  you  been  able  to  guide  your 
own  life?  Are  you  all-wise,  that  you  consider  yourself  a 
safe  counselor  for  my  brood?" 

This  one  look  broke  their  sympathy,  vexing  and  wound- 
ing Edgar.  He  thought  of  her  impatiently  as  a  timorous 
woman,  forgetting  or  not  knowing  that  all  of  good  in  her 
family  was  her  own  construction  of  bricks  without  straw, 
brick  laid  upon  brick  to  create  the  impossible,  and  each 
one  laid  against  the  opposition  of  besetting  fears — some 
of  the  fears  real  and  some,  their  close  kin,  imaginary. 


vn 

A  FEW  weeks  after  Joshua's  death,  among  a  welter  of 
business  correspondence  about  the  estate  and  the  Memorial 
Hospital,  Edgar  came  upon  a  big  gray  envelope  that 
caused  a  flickering  in  his  nerves.  He  held  the  letter  by 
one  corner,  and  snapped  it  back  and  forth  with  his  finger 
for  some  time.  Would  she  have  the  decency  to  be  amiable, 
in  a  letter  of  condolence?  .  .  . 

Finally  he  ripped  it  open.  The  eccentric  writing  was 
as  familiar  to  him  as  her  voice  had  once  been. 

"New  York. 
"Dear  Edgar, 

"I  was  sorry  when  I  heard  of  your  father's  death — 
it  will  leave  you  much  alone,  and  in  a  way  I  think  you 
were  more  companions  than  you  realized — you  were  very 
like  him — but  I  always  got  on  beautifully  with  him — and 
I  shall  miss  him  out  of  this  little  world,  even  though  I 
never  saw  him  lately.  You  know  I  am  a  skeptic — but  you 
are  an  enthusiast,  and  you  are  able  to  believe  and  hope — 
for  something — I  don't  know  what — what  do  you  hope, 
Edgar?  You  never  were  able  to  explain  to  me — but  from 
my  heart  I  wish  you  all  the  happiness  and  comfort  such 
a  hope  can  bring — 

(Although  a  literary  woman,  Naomi  did  not  punctuate 
her  private  correspondence.) 

"I  am  glad  to  be  given  this  reason  for  writing,  as  I 
have  felt  you  ought  perhaps  to  be  told  that  I  am  about 
to  marry  again — Rufus  Coningham — you  will  say  I  ought 
to  know  better,  but  I  am  a  gambler  and  can't  help  taking 
chances,  and  the  odds  are  more  favorable  this  time — in 


64    THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS 

the  first  place  I  am  fifteen  years  older  than  when  I  mar- 
ried you,  and  much  more  sedate  and  wise,  and  then  Rufus 
is  of  a  phlegmatic  temperament,  and  besides  he  knows 
exactly  what  to  expect  of  me — which  you  didn't — you 
idealized — so  did  I,  perhaps,  when  I  was  twenty — 

"My  dear  Edgar,  I  feel  this  is  a  suitable  time — as 
when  making  one's  will — to  forgive  one's  enemies — and  I 
hereby  state  that  I  have  forgiven  and  forgotten  almost 
all  that  ever  happened  between  us — I  don't  hate  you  any 
more — and  as  you  see  you  did  not  succeed  in  wrecking  my 
life  permanently.  I  sincerely  hope  the  damage  I  did  to 
yours  was  such  as  time  has  repaired  or  will  repair — I  have 
not  seen  your  name  in  the  public  prints — that  would  have 
been  impossible  to  say  ten  years  ago,  wouldn't  it? — but 
I  trust  your  feet  are  back  on  some  rung  of  your  career, 
for  which  you  were  exactly  fitted — and  in  which  you  al- 
ways commanded  my  admiration  and  respect. 
"With  much  sympathy 

"Sincerely  yours, 

"Naomi  Cranston." 

When  Edgar  read  this  letter,  he  felt  rising  in  him  the 
old,  nervous,  unappeasable  hatred,  the  frantic  exaspera- 
tion, which  had  poisoned  the  latter  half  of  his  married 
life  and  which  since  his  divorce  he  had  fought  down  and 
kept  under  until  he  thought  it  dead.  His  whole  organism 
was  shaken  by  a  crisis  of  nerves  and  heart,  racking,  ex- 
hausting. 

He  could  see  her  writing  that  note,  after  nine  years  of 
silence, — see  her  sitting  crouched  across  a  table,  with  her 
hand  dashing  and  flying  along,  see  the  feline  puckers 
coming  and  going  at  the  corners  of  her  eyes,  see  the 
viperine  twist  of  her  thin  mouth,  the  same  mouth  which 
could  poison  and  madden  his  very  soul  with  adroit  word- 
arrows,  which  had  in  other,  younger,  years  softened  in 
speaking  to  him,  which  had  promised  him  love. 

For  three  years  they  had  been  in  love,  more  in  love 


THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS    65 

than  other  couples,  exaltedly,  poetically.  For  another 
year  he  had  loved  her,  after  she  grew  indifferent,  and  she 
had  derived  amusement  from  teasing  him.  Then  his  anger 
broke  out,  and  it  was  so  fierce  that  it  drove  her  to  defend 
herself  by  new  and  cunning  assaults,  refined  tortures.  She 
had  known  him  so  well  that  when  she  turned  traitor  she 
could  pierce  his  last  defenses  with  half-a-dozen  words. 
He  felt  himself  being  dragged  down,  whether  by  her  or  by 
himself,  and  hated  and  blamed  her  while  he  sank :  he  was 
brutal  to  her,  and  yet  he  often  felt  as  if  the  man  who  so 
disgraced  himself  under  the  torture  was  not,  in  some  way, 
Edgar  Marriott: — or  as  if  Edgar  Marriott  were  not 
responsible  for  what  he  did.  He  had  never  broken  down 
her  spirit  or  her  power  to  wound  him.  At  times  they 
had  looked  into  each  other's  eyes  with  the  tireless  fury 
of  two  discarnate  evil  spirits. 

All  during  this  period  of  tension,  he  had  been  driving 
himself  ruthlessly  in  his  career.  While  still  in  the  legisla- 
ture he  had  sprung  into  national  prominence  as  the  advo- 
cate of  radical  reforms.  His  bills  had,  indeed,  been  de- 
feated, and  he  had  not  been  reflected;  but  he  had  won 
strong  backing,  in  the  press  and  public,  and  he  was  in 
line  for  a  United  States  senatorship.  His  campaign  was 
under  way,  and  he  was  touring  the  district,  speaking  with 
dazzling  success,  sweeping  through  the  opposition,  fol- 
lowed by  reporters  who  spread  his  utterances  broadcast. 
This  was  the  moment  which  Naomi  chose  to  bring  suit 
against  him  for  divorce.  There  was  a  scandal  which  made 
Edgar  Marriott's  name  more  odious  than  it  had  ever  been 
famous.  He  fought  on  against  the  inevitable  for  a  day 
or  two,  until  he  was  fairly  hissed  off  the  platform  by  an 
audience  which  he  tried  to  address. 

This  had  been  the  catastrophe  of  his  life,  final  and  com- 
plete. Nervous  prostration  followed,  and  after  the  acute 
attack  he  never  recovered  his  control  or  the  equilibrium  of 
his  forces.  His  frame,  always  too  weak  for  his  will,  made 
clear  its  inadequacy  for  active  life,  by  betraying  him  in  a 


66    THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS 

variety  of  ways,  one  after  another.  He  finally  came  to 
look  on  himself  as  a  valetudinarian,  practically  a  living 
dead  man,  who  could  retain  his  friends  only  through  pity. 

Naomi  had  too  little  concern  with  conventions  to  pre- 
tend she  wanted  the  custody  of  her  son,  so  Eddie  was  left 
on  the  hands  of  Edgar,  who  isolated  himself  in  his  own 
father's  house. 

Through  what  years  of  mental  pain  he  had  fought  his 
way  back  to  poise  and  mental,  if  not  physical  balance, 
cannot  be  described.  He  schooled  himself,  wrestled 
through  his  blackest  hours  alone,  drove  his  thoughts  out- 
ward rather  than  inward.  For  the  routine  of  life  he  was 
now  prepared,  and  the  one  weakness  he  still  had  to  reckon 
with  was  the  antagonism  between  his  temperament  and 
his  son's,  their  undeveloped  power  of  love,  and  their  mis- 
understandings. 

Naomi's  letter,  telling  and  boasting  that  she  had  re- 
made her  shattered  life,  offering  sympathy  either  false  or 
true,  throwing  off  bits  of  analysis  of  an  annoying  pene- 
tration, her  intimate,  colloquial  letter,  had  the  old  power 
to  poison  him.  It  was  days  before  he  became  outwardly 
calm. 

Meanwhile  Eddie  and  he  were  thrown  together  in  the 
empty  house.  As  he  had  dreaded,  they  quarreled  des- 
perately over  some  matter  of  discipline;  Edgar  was  unjust, 
Eddie  obstinate ;  the  boy  cried  half  the  night. 

At  eleven  the  next  morning  he  presented  himself  at 
Edgar's  door. 

"Back  from  school  already?"  asked  his  father,  wearily. 

"Back  for  good.    Here's  a  note  from  Dr.  Jewett." 

The  note  asked  Mr.  Marriott  to  be  so  good  as  to  with- 
draw his  son  from  the  school,  owing  to  his  recent  unfor- 
tunate conduct — which  was  both  impudent  and  obstinate, 
and  which  spread  a  mutinous  spirit  subversive  of  all  disci- 
pline. 

"What  was  the  unfortunate  conduct?"  asked  Edgar. 

"Oh,  I  jawed  old  Baxter  and  refused  to  recite,  and  called 


THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS    67 

him  all  manner  of  names,  and  they  tried  to  make  me 
apologize  publicly  and  I  wouldn't.  That  isn't  the  point ; 
I  did  it  on  purpose ;  it  was  no  pleasure  to  me.  I  was  try- 
ing to  get  fired." 

"Oh,  you  were !"  exclaimed  Edgar,  his  anger  rising  even 
above  his  mortal  weariness. 

"I've  got  to  get  out  of  this,  Dad :  I  can't  stand  it.  You 
must  send  me  away  to  school." 

"M-m,"  said  Edgar.    "You  think  we  can't  get  along?" 

"It's  just  hell  here,"  said  Eddie,  sullenly. 

"I  don't  suppose  you  ought  to  live  in  hell." 

Eddie  darted  a  look  to  see  if  his  father  was  speaking 
ironically,  but  he  was  serious. 

"Do  you  think  you  could  hold  your  own  at  boarding- 
school?" 

"I  can  tell  you  that  after  I  try." 

"You've  a  gracious  way  with  you,  Eddie." 

Eddie  bit  his  lip.  He  had  determined  not  to  quarrel 
with  his  father  again  that  day. 

"You  think  we'll  get  on  better  if  we  separate  for  a 
while?" 

Eddie  nodded.    "We  couldn't  get  on  worse." 

"Eddie,"  said  his  father,  painfully,  "I've  been  acting 
like  a  lunatic  lately.  It's  only  fair  to  you  to  tell  you 
you're  not  the  person  I'm  angry  at.  I  can  promise  you 
that  it  will  never  be  again  as  it's  been  the  past  week." 

"Dad  .  .  .» 

"Well?" 

"Some  day  will  you  tell  me  what  really  happened  be- 
tween you  and  Mother?" 

"Some  day  .  .  .  perhaps  ...  I  don't  see  the  point." 

"I've  always  thought  it  can't  have  been  all  your 
fault " 

Edgar  was  touched.  "Whose  story  have  you  heard?" 
he  asked. 

"Only  Rhoda's.  She's  very  fond  of  you,  but  she  doesn't 
make  a  very  good  case  for  you." 


68     THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS 

"I  don't  believe  anybody  could,  Eddie.  It  was  a  bad 
business.  All  the  same,  I'm  tremendously  glad  you  think 
it  wasn't  all  my  fault  .  .  .  because  in  a  certain  sense  .  .  . 
it  wasn't  .  .  .  No,  I  don't  believe  I  can  ever  tell  you  what 
really  happened  .  .  .  but  you're  a  brick  to  think  that, 
after  the  way  I've  treated  you." 

"I'm  sort  of  ...  the  same  way." 

"You  uncanny  little  chap !  .  .  .  I  say,  Eddie,  we'll  have 
to  try  all  over  again.  There's  no  reason  why  we  shouldn't 
get  on.  Perhaps  if  we  talked  things  over  more  .  .  ." 

"Oh,  dad !  do  let  me  go  away  to  school !" 

"The  first  minute  we've  ever  talked  sensibly  together?" 

"It— it  won't  last." 

"No,"  said  Edgar  to  himself.  "Well,  we'll  try  to  get 
you  in  somewhere.  It  won't  be  too  easy,  after  Jewett  has 
fired  you;  but  it  can  be  arranged  some  way.  I'll  write 
to  Appleby  at  St.  Stephen's." 

That  evening,  after  writing  the  necessary  letters,  Edgar 
sat  by  the  fire  and  thought  about  his  son.  The  poor  boy 
was  already  old  in  some  ways ;  cursed  with  a  perverse, 
sullen  temper,  brought  up  among  the  wreckage  of  a  broken 
home.  And  yet  by  some  unrequited  effort  of  tenderness, 
he  had  interpreted  and  excused  his  father. 

It  made  Edgar  want  to  cry. 


vm 

A  DAY  or  two  before  his  departure,  Eddie  made  a  pil- 
grimage to  Hickory  Place,  for  a  parting  with  his  liege 
lady.  He  thought  of  her  for  perhaps  two-thirds  of  his 
waking  hours,  and  dreamt  interminable  adventures  by 
night,  in  which  she  figured, — he  wearing  armor  or  a  Span- 
ish cloak,  and  enacting  tragic  scenes  wherein  he  suffered 
death  for  some  lost  but  superb  cause,  while  she  rode  a 
white  horse  with  a  sweeping  mane,  and  spoke  Elizabethan 
English. 

The  true  chivalrous  spirit  informed  these  romances. 
They  never  ended  in  the  personal  possession  of  the  goddess, 
in  fact  they  never  ended  at  all,  but  disappeared  down 
vistas  of  memory.  Through  all  his  sufferings  and  achieve- 
ments Diantha  fluttered  before  him,  above  him — ethere- 
ally bright,  remote  and  merciful. 

He  found  her  on  the  front  steps,  playing  "jacks"  with 
a  young  friend.  A  hollowness  made  itself  felt  in  his  being 
when  he  saw  her,  but  it  passed  off,  and  they  talked  of 
indifferent  matters  until  the  friend  went  home. 

"Did  you  know  I  was  going  away  to  school?" 

"No.    Where?    When?" 

"St.  Stephen's — day  after  to-morrow." 

"My,  you'll  be  homesick." 

"I  don't  believe  so." 

"Won't  your  father  be  lonesome  without  you?" 

"Very  likely.  lie's  brought  it  on  himself.  He's  been 
awfully  mean." 

It  was  Diantha's  fate  to  be  the  recipient  of  confidences, 
at  this  period,  from  her  colt-like  young  relatives,  without 
ever  losing  the  faculty  of  being  shocked.  Her  eyes  grew 
quite  round. 


70    THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS 

"Oh,  Eddie,  your  father  is  so  nice.  I'm  sure  you  mis- 
understood him  about  something.  He  couldn't  do  any- 
thing mean." 

"Not  to  you,  he  couldn't.  Nor  to  most  people.  But 
he  hates  me,  you  know,  because  I  remind  him  of  my 
mother." 

"How  silly "  began  Diantha,  before  remembering 

the  few  words  Cousin  Edgar  had  spoken  to  her  about 
hell. 

"Well,  it's  true.  I  don't  think  you  know  everything 
about  my  father  and  mother." 

"I  don't  suppose  I  do." 

"Diantha  ...  if  you  ever  do  hear  the  story  from  any- 
body ...  I  wish  you'd  tell  me  ...  I  think  I  could  get 
on  better  if  I  knew  what  really  happened;  but  of  course 
nobody  will  talk  to  me  about  it." 

"All  right,  Eddie,  but  they  won't  talk  to  me  either, 
most  likely.  Tell  me  about  where  you're  going  to  school." 

"I  expect  I'll  have  a  rotten  time."  Eddie's  brow  fur- 
rowed. "I  don't  get  on  with  fellows  very  well." 

"You  must  try  to  be  nice,  and  take  an  interest  in 
games." 

"You  know  I  can't  play  games,  Di ;  they  bore  me  to 
death." 

"Nobody  will  like  you  if  you  keep  to  yourself  and  tell 
them  just  what  you  think." 

"Well  then,  they  needn't  like  me.  I'm  not  obliged  to 
put  myself  out  for  them  any  more  than  they  are  for 
me." 

"Eddie,  you're  a  rather  cross  sort  of  boy." 

"I'm  born  cross,  I  don't  act  that  way  on  purpose." 

"Mamma  says  to  us  to  keep  still  when  we  can't  think  of 
anything  pleasant  to  say." 

"That  sounds  good,"  said  Eddie,  scornfully,  who  knew 
his  own  lead-colored  familiar  imp,  against  whose  resistance 
he  had  developed  his  spiritual  muscles  in  more  wrestling- 
bouts  than  Diantha's  pliant  soul  could  comprehend. 


THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS    71 

"Eddie,"  said  Diantha,  with  great  seriousness,  for  she 
took  her  role  of  Mother  Confessor  much  to  heart, 
"when  we  came  to  live  here  we  made  all  new  friends.  None 
of  them  knew  what  we  were  like.  So  long  as  we  acted 
nice  they  thought  of  course  we  were  nice.  Mat's  had  two 
or  three  fights  lately,  but  up  till  then  it  was  splendid. 
You  ought  to  try  to  be  that  way  when  you  start  at  your 
new  school." 

"Of  course  I  ought." 

"Will  you?" 

"Sure " 

"I  shouldn't  wonder  if  it  would  be  the  best  thing  that 
ever  happened  to  you." 

Some  such  thought  was  in  Eddie's  own  mind,  and  at  all 
events  he  was  following  his  own  judgment  in  going  away. 

Nevertheless  his  trip  East  was  far  more  melancholy 
than  his  worst  days  at  home.  He  was  leaving  a  record  of 
failures,  quarrels,  bitterness,  which  augured  little  success 
in  his  new  venture,  and  the  strength  of  his  character  ap- 
peared to  him  as  his  greatest  handicap ;  it  was  what  had 
brought  him  into  collision  with  all  constituted  authority, 
and  if  he  could  have  sloughed  it  off  in  the  station  he  would 
have  felt  he  was  starting  to  school  with  better  chances  of 
success. 

He  had  sworn  that  from  that  day  forth  he  would  not 
shed  tears  in  public  or  in  private ;  and  this  resolve  caused 
a  continuous  exertion  of  will-power.  As  the  train  fled 
across  gray  fields  soggy  with  half-melted  snow,  and 
darkened  the  skies  with  the  fleer  of  smoke,  he  thought  of 
his  quarrels  with  Edgar,  one  after  another;  of  his  grand- 
father, intervening  with  troubled  face  to  protect  him 
from  unkindness,  and  again  lying  helpless  in  bed,  a  few 
days  before  his  death — his  hand  barely  closing  on  Eddie's 
young  paw,  the  pleasant  smile  almost  erased  by  lethargy, 
his  eyes  compassionate  and  dim  .  .  . 

He  remembered  sitting  on  the  floor  in  his  mother's  room, 
a  small,  small  boy,  playing  with  her  mirror  and  hair- 


72     THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS 

pins  while  she  told  him  stories  in  a  thrilling,  minor-keyed 
voice.  The  stories  had  ceased,  and  he,  enchanted,  had 
stumbled  to  his  feet  and  clutched  one  of  her  knees  as  she 
stood  at  the  window,  demanding  further  entertainment. 

"No,  I'm  tired,  go  away,"  she  had  said  brusquely.  He 
had  set  up  a  coaxing  wail ;  and  then  she  had  slapped  him 
tinglingly  on  the  cheek  so  that  his  head  buzzed. 

"Get  out  of  here,"  he  had  heard  her  say.  "Must  I  be 
bothered  to  death?" 

.  .  .  So  he  held  his  head  rigid  against  the  green  plush 
cushions  of  the  train,  staring  without  flinching  at  the 
people  who  staggered  along  the  aisle,  and  dared  them  to 
guess  that  he  was  miserable. 

Eddie  was  far  from  normal,  but  if  it  be  normal  to  live 
without  feeling  excess  of  emotion,  few  children  come  in  the 
normal  category. 


IX 

FOE  the  rest  of  that  winter  Edgar,  to  occupy  himself, 
inaugurated  certain  Saturday-morning  parties,  which 
closed  in  sumptuous  luncheons.  Mat  and  Diantha  were 
bidden,  Fan,  and  occasionally  Josie.  The  real  purpose  of 
these  gatherings  was  supposed  by  the  children  to  be  the 
repast;  but  in  Edgar's  breast  they  were  known  as  the 
meetings  of  a  debating  society.  They  were  thus  ordered: 
a  large  box  of  caramels  was  always  provided.  Half  an 
hour  before  luncheon  Edgar  would  propound  a  question 
which  had  occurred  to  him,  and  lure  Fan  and  Mat  into  a 
discussion  of  it.  By  tacit  understanding,  Diantha  was 
the  referee,  and  she  listened  acutely  through  the  debate, 
which  often  continued  till  the  end  of  lunch.  Then  it  was 
her  prerogative  to  present  the  box  of  caramels  to  the  corf* 
testant  who  had  convinced  her.  The  recipient  was  wont 
to  pass  the  candy  among  the  guests,  after  which  he  was 
free  to  carry  the  remainder  home  as  spoil  of  victory. 

Edgar  put  forth  all  his  ingenuity  in  the  choice  of  ques- 
tions. He  was  apt  to  propound  certain  popular  preju- 
dices,— religious,  political,  racial,  social, — and  tempt  the 
boys  craftily  into  taking  a  stand  which  he  later  forced 
them  to  justify  or  abandon.  He  found  them  both  inclined 
to  a  conventional  standpoint,  partly  from  inexperience; 
but  Mat  took  his  baits  more  eagerly.  Mat's  conventions 
were  different  from  Fan's,  inclining  as  they  did  to  radi- 
calism; but  it  was  a  radicalism  swallowed  whole,  in  some 
feast  of  pamphlets. 

"Natural  resources,"  he  would  say  grandly,  "should  be 
the  property  of  the  State.  Private  exploitation  .  .  ." 

"Why,  Mat?  Why  shouldn't  the  men  who  have  the 
73 


74     THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS 

courage  and  enterprise  to  develop  natural  resources,  profit 
by  them  ?"  Edgar  would  ask,  guilefully. 

And  Mat  did  not  know.  He  was  often  annoyed  by 
Cousin  Edgar's  double-faced  logic,  and  after  he  went  to 
bed  at  night  he  would  revolve  arguments  in  his  mind 
which  might  have  crushed  the  enemy.  (These  salubrious 
post-mortems  were  most  likely  to  occur  after  the  days 
when  Fan  carried  home  the  caramels.) 

Fan  was  the  more  generous  antagonist  of  the  two ;  but 
one  day  even  his  seraphic  qualities  were  tried  beyond  en- 
durance. It  was  an  occasion  when  Josie  was  present,  and 
lent  her  counsel  to  Diantha  in  the  award. 

Restriction  of  immigration  had  been  the  theme,  and  it 
so  happened  that  Fan  had  thrown  open  these  United 
States  to  the  oppressed  of  every  land,  with  more  eloquence 
than  usual.  Mat,  on  the  contrary,  was  concerned 
over  the  lowering  of  the  standard  of  living,  and  favored 
certain  judicious  limitations — left  rather  vague — in  the 
interests  of  those  who  had  already  passed  Ellis  Island  or 
Plymouth  Rock.  He,  too,  had  soared  somewhat;  the 
morning  had,  in  fact,  been  a  lively  one,  and  Edgar  had 
had  hard  work  to  keep  his  face  straight. 

When  it  came  to  a  decision  Diantha,  as  always,  was 
torn  asunder.  Abstract  justice  was  complicated  by  the 
following  considerations,  mutually  contradictory: 

1.  Mat  was  her  brother.    She  adored  him. 

2.  Mat  was  her  brother.     She  must  not  show  favorit- 
ism. 

3.  Fan  was  the  natural  gainer  under  consideration  No. 
2,  but, 

4.  Fan  was  also  her  idol,  and  bashfulness  forbade  her 
revealing  this  romantic  preference  by  giving  him  caramels. 

It  is  to  be  feared  that  the  weight  of  argument,  one 
way  or  the  other,  swayed  her  thirteen-year-old  judgment 
rather  lightly. 

Now  Josie  was  not  of  so  punctilious  a  stamp.  The  dis- 
cussion had  seemed  to  her  to  be  compounded  of  that  bore- 


THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS    75 

someness  which  is  the  native  air  of  grown-up  discourse, 
and  the  pitiful  inadequacy  which  attends  the  thinking  of 
one's  younger  relations.  But  two  points  were  quite  clear 
to  her: 

1.  Mat  was  a  Poor  Relation. 

2.  Fan  was  her  only  brother,  and  he  lived  on  the  Lake 
Shore  Drive. 

She  therefore  strongly  advised  Diantha,  who  was  wear- 
ing her — Josie's — last  winter's  Peter  Thompson  dress,  to 
give  Fan  the  caramels.  Diantha's  inclination  was  to  do 
the  contrary  of  what  Josie  wished,  but  being  young,  weak 
and  humble,  she  was  talked  down,  and  Fanning  received 
the  trophy  gracefully  at  her  hands. 

She  looked  repentantly  at  Mat,  and  he  looked  trucu- 
lently toward  Cousin  Edgar;  but  that  sagacious  person 
stared  at  the  end  of  his  cigar. 

"If  I  wasn't  your  brother,"  said  Mat  in  a  low  tone  to 
Diantha,  "you  wouldn't  dare  give  me  a  raw  deal  like  that. 
It  was  framed  up  between  you  and  Josie  and  Fan." 

"No,  no,  truly  it  wasn't,  Mat.    We  meant  to  be  fair." 

"Yes,  I  guess.  Just  because  Fanning's  got  a  wave  in 
his  front  hair." 

At  this  point  Josie  interposed. 

"Well,  Mat,  just  because  you're  ugly  it  doesn't  follow 
you've  got  all  the  brains." 

"What's  the  matter?"  asked  Fanning. 

"Mat  thinks  he  didn't  get  a  square  deal,"  piped  his 
sister. 

Fanning  flushed.  He  had  been  impressed  with  his  own 
eloquence,  and  had  received  the  candy  as  a  rightful  tribute 
to  intellectual  force. 

"It's  a  poor  sport  that  can't  take  the  judge's  decision 
when  it  goes  against  him,"  he  said,  bitterly. 

"Oh !"  said  Mat.  "I  suppose  a  good  sport  is  a  person 
that  gets  licked  in  an  argument  and  then  takes  a  box  of 
caramels  for  it." 

"Licked!"  cried  Fan  . 


76     THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS 

Three  seconds  later  a  porcelain  crashed  to  the  floor, 
dislodged  from  its  teakwood  base  by  the  impact  of  two 
hurtling  bodies.  A  fist  smacked  against  a  jaw.  Feet 
trampled  on  the  Brussels  carpet. 

The  girls  huddled  out  of  the  way,  and  turned  scared 
eyes  to  Edgar,  who  had  with  difficulty  detached  his  gaze 
from  the  cigar.  For  another  three  seconds  he  watched 
the  fracas. 

"Boys!" 

The  metallic  voice  cut  them  apart  like  a  blade.  They 
stood  panting  and  sheepish,  eyeing  him  sidelong.  Silence 
reigned  absolute  for  perhaps  half  a  minute. 

"Next  week,"  said  Edgar  in  a  dry  tone,  "we  will  discuss 
the  relation  of  force  to  the  maintenance  of  justice.  Allied 
to  this  will  be  the  question  whether  it  is  wise  for  me  to 
introduce  caramels  into  my  house." 

For  that  day,  at  least,  the  caramels  went  home  with 
nobody.  The  boys  shook  hands  in  the  hall,  and  escorted 
their  respective  sisters  back  to  the  North  Side  with  all 
convenient  speed. 

Edgar  laughed  at  intervals  all  the  rest  of  the  day. 


PART  II 


IN  the  spring  of  1909  a  certain  piece  of  Edgar's  prop- 
erty was  brought  to  his  attention  by  its  tenant's  unfore- 
seen departure.  It  was  the  farm  which  had  been  his  legal 
residence  in  the  days  when  he  sat  in  the  Legislature, — an 
old  farmhouse,  as  age  is  reckoned  in  Illinois,  preten- 
tiously remodeled  under  Naomi's  supervision,  with  several 
hundred  acres  of  land  lying  on  the  rolling  slopes  back 
of  the  Smoke  River.  It  was  five  miles  from  a  county  seat, 
and  in  the  days  of  horse-drawn  station-wagons,  three 
hours  from  town;  and  though  Naomi  had  occasionally 
enjoyed  writing  poetry  in  the  orchard,  or  entertaining 
week-end  guests,  it  had  outgrown  any  happy  associations 
for  her  or  her  husband.  For  years  it  had  been  rented 
to  an  intelligent  theoretical  farmer,  and  when  Edgar 
thought  of  it  at  all  he  congratulated  himself  that  his 
country  neighbors  were  being  incited  to  prosperity  by  the 
view  of  Higgins'  bumper  crops. 

When  Higgins  perversely  became  fascinated  by  oil- 
wells,  just  after  getting  in  the  spring  wheat,  Edgar,  who 
knew  nothing  of  farming,  was  struck  with  an  odd  desire 
to  harvest  those  crops.  The  resolution  was  taken  in 
three  minutes :  he  would  engage  a  capable  manager,  spend 
the  summer  on  his  farm,  and  keep  open  house  for  his 
young  relatives. 

The  plan  was  less  simple  to  execute  than  to  conceive, 
for  he  realized  that  to  hold  the  young  people  on  the  prem- 
ises he  would  have  to  provide  other  than  intellectual 
amusements.  He  put  money  into  motors,  horses  and  boats, 
77 


78     THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS 

had  the  tennis-courts  rolled  much  more  thoroughly  than 
suited  the  convenience  of  the  aged  gardener,  who  did  not 
play  tennis  himself,  and  renewed  his  lapsed  jnembership  in 
the  Egmont  Country  Club. 

Eddie  was  "back  on  his  hands,"  as  he  put  it.  In  spite 
of  ups  and  downs,  his  career  at  St.  Stephen's  had  not  been 
unsuccessful,  and  his  disposition  had  certainly  improved. 
He  had  even  formed  intimacies  with  a  few  bold  spirits, 
and  although  he  was  not  a  popular  idol  had  passed  a 
high  average  of  happy  hours. 

His  downfall  had  come  owing  to  an  investigation  into 
the  comparative  effects  of  opium  and  hashish,  conducted 
at  his  instigation  by  four  inquirers  in  an  old  barn.  He 
had  been  on  the  highroad  to  the  Sixth  Form,  and  it 
caused  him  momentary  pain  to  leave  the  school ;  but  while 
yet  in  the  taxi  which  conveyed  him  to  the  station,  he 
weighed  academic  restrictions  and  found  them  a  drag  on 
character  development.  Art  was  his  mistress.  His  dis- 
loyalty to  her  was  now  at  an  end. 

When  he  appeared,  unheralded,  at  his  father's  break- 
fast table,  Edgar  was  pleased  with  his  bearing.  He  had 
grown  taller,  "though  still  nothing  remarkable,"  as  he 
said;  and  his  face  was  strongly  stamped  with  individu- 
ality, from  the  continuous  eyebrows  to  the  blunt,  ugly 
mouth,  which  had  developed  some  flexibility  in  smiling. 

"You  don't  know  me  from  Adam,  dad,"  he  said,  after 
briefly  explaining  the  misfortune  of  his  presence.  "I'm 
here  to  surprise  you." 

He  poked  his  chin  corner-wise  into  the  air, — the  recur- 
rent family  gesture, — settled  his  tie,  and  eyed  his  parent 
truculently. 

"Maybe  I've  changed,  too,"  said  Edgar.  "At  any  rate 
I  don't  feel  like  fighting  till  I've  digested  my  breakfast. 
We  can  spend  the  next  ten  years  of  our  lives  getting  ac- 
quainted, as  you  seem  to  have  cut  yourself  off  from 
further  education." 

"I  say,  Dad,  what  would  you  like  me  to  take  up?" 


THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE|  POWELLS    79 

Edgar  shook  his  head.  "My  child,  I'm  too  old  to  let 
myself  be  entrapped  that  way.  You  needn't  tell  me  you 
came  home  without  plans  of  your  own.  My  role,  I  see,  is 
to  thwart  them." 

Eddie  was  not  too  proud  to  grin  at  this.  "Well,  then, 
I  mean  to  be  an  animal  sculptor." 

"All  right,"  said  Edgar. 

"A  symbolical  animal  sculptor." 

"Very  well.  Define  same.  Like  hippogriffs  and  uni- 
corns ?" 

"Perhaps  I  mean  an  imaginative  animal  sculptor." 

"Then  perhaps  you  mean  a  good  animal  sculptor." 

"I  think  I  mean  conventionalized — decorative — archi- 
tectural  " 

"Let's  get  at  it  from  the  concrete.  What  man  does  the 
kind  of  sculping  you  mean?" 

"Nobody,"  replied  Eddie,  haughtily. 

"When  are  you  going  to  start?" 

"Day  after  to-morrow." 

"Why  procrastinate?" 

"I've  got  to  see  some  people  first."  The  "people"  Eddie 
had  to  see  consisted  of  one  young  lady  in  First  Year  High 
School,  who  lived  on  Hickory  Place. 

"All  right,"  said  Edgar.  "I'll  stake  you  to  a  studio 
when  you  get  that  far,  and  I  suppose  you'll  want  a  bow 
tie  and  a  tam-o'-shanter.  Charge  them  to  me.  I  can't 
remember  that  art  has  ever  run  in  the  Marriott  family 
before." 

"I  think  Mat  Powell  has  a  sort  of  an  artistic  tempera- 
ment." 

"Well,  he  takes  after  Vesey." 

"Perhaps  I  take  after  my  mother." 

"Yes,  you  do  in  some  ways." 

"Dad,  do  you  believe  in  heredity  or  environment?" 

"In  most  cases  heredity  makes  environment,  don't  you 
think?" 

"I'm  a  different  man  at  school  from  here." 


80     THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS 

"But  how  do  you  know  your  heredity  didn't  determine 
your  going  to  that  school?  .  .  .  Oh,  here  we  are  at  Pre- 
destination and  Free  Will.  Pour  me  out  another  cup, 
there's  a  good  old  chap." 


When  Edgar  came  to  consider  his  farmhouse,  he 
learned  that  it  was  in  radical  need  of  redecoration ;  and 
so  long  as  Eddie  had  branched  off  into  Art,  his  father 
thought  him  a  suitable  director  of  operations.  Eddie  had 
no  training  in  decoration  and  little  in  color,  but  his  esti- 
mate of  his  powers  was  high  enough  to  keep  him  from 
hesitating.  He  spent  a  day  at  Redgate  Farms,  and  came 
back  boisterous. 

"Dad,  how  much  money  would  you  be  willing  to  put 
into  furbishing  up  the  place?" 

"Well,  I  judge  it  will  take  upwards  of  a  thousand." 
"Give  me  ten  thousand  and  I'll  make  it  a  dream." 
"Ah!"  said  Edgar,  startled.     "That  is  a  dream." 
"Very  well.     If  you're  just  going  to  put  on  new  white 
paint  and  bedroom  wall-paper,  you  can  get  a  contractor 
to  do  it." 

"That  was  about  what  I'd  expected,  only  I  thought  as 
you  were  going  to  live  in  it  you  might  not  feel  it  beneath 
your  dignity  to  instruct  the  contractor  briefly." 

"Dad,  let  me  show  you  what  I've  planned  ..."  A 
pocketful  of  papers  appeared.  "The  site  is  the  classical 
example  of  a  missed  opportunity  .  .  .  Now,  you  remem- 
ber, the  house  faces  west,  near  the  top  of  the  hill,  and 
looks  up  and  down  the  river  and  across  the  valley.  And 
the  front  is  all  covered  with  porte-cocheres,  and  a  great 
ugly  gravel-drive  takes  up  the  whole  sweep  of  the  lawn. 
There's  no  privacy  on  that  side  .  .  .  Now  you  remember 
the  highroad  is  just  over  the  crest  of  the  hill,  and  the 
drive  comes  over  here  .  .  ." 

"Your  mother  and  I  planned  the  grounds  while  we  were 
engaged." 


THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS    81 

"Well,  you  could  have  done  a  better  job.  Now  look: 
my  first  idea  is  to  change  the  entrance  .  .  .  Not  to  the 
back,  because  that's  where  the  orchard  is,  and  that's  de- 
lightful. But  to  this  end.  Then  you  see  there'd  be  very 
little  of  the  lawn  touched  by  the  drive,  and  it  could  go 
back  to  the  stables  through  here" 

"In  my  young  days,  we  wanted  people  in  surreys  to 
drive  through  our  grounds  and  admire  everything.  And 
my  mother  reveled  in  those  porte-cocheres,  because  people 
could  see  them  all  up  and  down  the  valley." 

"The  house  is  a  nice  old  house,"  said  Eddie  dogmati- 
cally. "It  sits  tight  to  the  ground,  and  it  has  a  good 
roof.  But  those  things  must  be  scraped  off." 

"Very  well,  son." 

"Now  look  at  the  floor-plan.  We  put  an  entrance  here, 
through  the  drawing-room,  and  a  coatroom  at  either  side. 
The  old  entrance  we  block  up,  and  make  into  a  study  for 
you,  with  long  windows  on  the  terrace." 

"Oh.     The  terrace." 

"Yes,  a  stone  terrace  where  we  can  sit  and  admire 
the  sunsets." 

"And  what  do  we  put  over  our  heads  when  it  rains  ?" 

"When  it  rains  we  go  inside  .  .  .  Here's  the  music- 
room — no  change  there.  The  dining-room  where  it  always 
was,  the  kitchen  back  of  it — Now  this  room  .  .  ." 

"My  sacred  office  .  .  ." 

"Yes.  Look  how  the  ground  slopes.  We  take  advan- 
tage of  that  to  build  on  and  make  an  enormous  living- 
room,  looking  west  and  south,  with  a  stage  at  the  east 
end,  and  three  or  four  little  dressing-rooms  in  here." 

"Lord!  I  suppose  there's  a  minstrel's  gallery  at  the 
other  end?" 

"There  could  be,"  replied  Eddie  seriously.  "But  that 
would  be  more  the  old  English  wainscoted  idea.  I  want 
this  to  be  simple  and  cheerful  and  inexpensive,  like  a  real 
farmhouse." 

"A  real  farmhouse,"  murmured  Edgar. 


82    THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS 

"You  see,  except  for  the  living-room,  there  are  only  two 
or  three  partitions  to  change,  and  a  few  openings  to  cut 
and  a  few  others  to  block  up.  The  bedrooms  will  do  very 
well,  with  just  a  couple  more  baths  ...  I  thought  we 
might  put  a  bowling-alley  down  in  the  basement  .  .  . 
Now  the  grounds  .  .  ." 

"Oh,  deary  me." 

"You  see  at  the  top  of  the  orchard,  here,  where  there's 
a  tremendous  view,  we'll  put  in  a  colonnade  and  a  swim- 
ming-pool. .  .  .  This  part  is  all  right  .  .  .  The  vegetable 
gardens  will  do  well  enough  .  .  .  The  stone  wall  around 
the  orchard  is  pretty  tumble-down,  but  that's  a  small 
matter  .  .  .  But  here  .  .  .  where  the  ground  dips  .  .  . 
we'll  have  a  sunken  garden.  And  some  cement  steps  going 
down  to  the  tennis-court  .  .  .  And  I  thought  we  might 
pipe  the  swimming-pool  water  down  to  one  or  two  foun- 
tains on  the  side-hill,  like  at  the  Villa  d'Este." 

"Eddie,  you're  going  a  little  crazy.  Do  you  know  how 
much  money  you've  spent  since  you  began  talking?" 

"I'll  bet  ten  thousand  would  cover  it." 

"It  would  take  twenty-five,  or  I'm  a  blaspheming  Jew. 
You  must  think  I'm  a  richer  man  than  I  am." 

"I'd  like  to  get  figures  on  it." 

"Tell  me,  Eddie,  will  you  live  there  after  it's  fixed? 
Your  mother  and  I  never  got  back  our  money's  worth  in 
pleasure  out  of  that  place." 

"You  bet  I'll  live  there !    It  will  be  a  paradise !" 

There  was  more  argument,  at  the  end  of  which  Edgar 
underwrote  his  son's  reconstructions  to  the  amount  of 
five  thousand  dollars,  with  the  chance  of  another  five  if 
the  results  seemed  to  warrant  it. 

Edgar  wondered  whether  he  was  spoiling  Eddie.  Cer- 
tainly it  was  the  essence  of  "spoiling"  to  alternate  un- 
reasonable lavishness  with  irrational  severity.  Eddie, 
however,  was  at  present  his  favorite  plaything.  The  boy 
had  developed  out  of  recognition,  and  had  made  his  father 
respect  his  judgment. 


THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS    83 

Edgar's  notions  of  money  had  always  been  free-and- 
easy,  as  he  had  never  lived  on  the  fruit  of  his  own  toil; 
and  he  cared  nothing  for  the  training  of  the  school  of 
hardship.  Spending  one's  life-blood  to  gain  a  subsistence 
seemed  to  Edgar  slightly  degrading, — why,  he  could  not 
have  said.  True,  many  of  his  friends  had  been  poor  men, 
but  their  poverty  was  a  bit  unfortunate;  a  man, — or  his 
ancestors, — showed  some  weakness  when  he  could  not 
maintain  himself  in  accordance  with  his  tastes. 

Whatever  may  have  been  the  exact  psychology  of  the 
thing,  Edgar  could  see  no  reason  for  withholding  money 
from  Eddie  when  Eddie  had  a  more  or  less  rational  use 
for  it.  He  had  not  withheld  from  others:  Mat  Powell 
was  at  that  moment  enjoying  the  privileges  of  a  fresh- 
man at  Chicago  University  through  his  free  and  unosten- 
tatious gift.  Edgar  would  never  amass  a  great  fortune, 
as  his  brother  had  done  in  spite  of  the  demands  of  his 
growing  family ;  but  it  may  be  safely  said  that  there  never 
was  a  man  whose  wealth  or  want  of  it  caused  him  less 
anxiety.  He  made,  at  least  in  this  his  two-and-fortieth 
year,  no  vain  pretensions;  he  simply  accepted  his  share 
of  his  father's  estate  as  a  natural  means  of  expressing  his 
personality. 

Power  went  to  Eddie's  brain  for  the  next  few  weeks. 
He  dropped  the  art-school  and  lived  at  Redgate,  con- 
ducting discussions  with  his  father  by  long-distance  tele- 
phone. In  the  end  he  screwed  several  extra  thousands  out 
of  him,  and  launched  into  a  program  modified  only  by  the 
omission  of  a  few  fountains,  cascades,  sunken  gardens,  and 
ornamental  flights  of  steps,  and  by  some  simplifications  in 
the  house-plan.  The  colonnade  above  the  swimming-pool 
was  a  vexing  problem,  as  the  estimates  ran  high,  and  he 
could  not  allege  any  useful  purpose  it  would  serve.  Edgar 
was  all  for  omitting  it,  but  Eddie's  heart  was  fixed.  It 
was  to  serve  as  a  back-screen  for  a  statue  he  intended  to 
model,  which  he  already  saw  reflected  in  the  waters  of  the 
future  pool, — a  little  nymph,  straight  and  slim,  with  her 


84     THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS 

hand  on  the  mane  of  a  wicked  leopard.  The  nymph  bore 
a  likeness  to  Diantha,  and  the  leopard  was  a  spiritual 
portrait  of  Eddie. 

One  day  he  called  up.     "Dad !  I've  got  my  colonnade !" 
"You  mean  you've  ordered  it  and  I'll  pay  for  it." 
"Not  a  bit !    The  whole  thing,  from  base  to  pediment,  is 
being  stuck  together  out   of  the  old  porte-cochere.      It 
only  means   a  cement  foundation  and  a  little  carpenter 
work  and  a  coat  of  paint." 

"Good  enough.  It'll  have  to  be  repainted  every  spring, 
but  I  suppose  it's  going  to  be  extra  beautiful.  By  the 
way,  are  you  sure  this  place  will  be  ready  for  company 
the  twenty-first  of  June?  Because  that's  when  the  com- 
pany's due  to  arrive." 

"Oh,  practically,"  said  Eddie,  hanging  up. 
If  Edgar  could  have  seen  his  child  at  that  moment,  he 
would  have  despaired  of  his  house  party.  Eddie  had  con- 
ceived the  project  of  casting  his  statue  in  plaster  and 
setting  it  up  for  the  grand  opening,  and  this  sublime  idea 
necessarily  withdrew  some  of  his  attention  from  the  struc- 
tural and  decorative  alterations  he  was  supervising.  His 
tweeds  were  smeared  with  clay,  and  for  hours  each  day  he 
stamped  about  his  modeling-stand,  biting  at  a  manly  pipe. 
Sometimes,  staring  like  a  hypnotic  subject,  he  managed 
to  see  his  figures  as  he  meant  them  to  be;  but  his  limita- 
tions became  daily  clearer  to  him,  and  he  plowed  with 
unclean  fingers  through  anatomy  text-books,  or  recon- 
structed his  armatures,  pushing  his  way  through  dense 
technical  thickets  toward  the  goal. 


n 

As  the  vernal  equinox  drew  near,  and  the  telephone 
pressed  for  details,  Eddie  detached  himself  from  his  sculp- 
ture to  superintend  the  workmen  a  bit.  He  had  wasted 
some  days,  and  further,  he  had  laid  out  impossibilities  for 
performance  in  two  months.  As  he  argued  with  the  con- 
tractor, his  sense  of  power  faded  into  a  looming  cloud  of 
responsibility,  and  from  feeling  at  least  twenty-five,  he 
became  a  tremulous  thirteen. 

"Am  sending  out  maids,"  said  a  telegram.  "Meet  them 
four- fourteen." 

And  Eddie,  who  had  not  yet  provided  a  chauffeur,  got 
out  the  Ford  station-wagon,  and  went  down  to  the  village 
for  them. 

"You'll  have  a  good  deal  of  cleaning  to  do,"  he  said 
apologetically,  as  their  bell-wether  followed  him  through 
rooms  apparently  swept  by  tropic  cyclones.  "I  want  all 
these  bedrooms  put  in  order  by  Friday,  and  these  curtains 
hung,  and  these  valance  things  on  the  beds,  and — you 
know,  fix  it  up  and  give  it  a  touch  of  home." 

The  flock  made  merry  in  the  kitchen  wing  over  their 
master's  orders,  but  they  good-naturedly  did  what  they 
could. 

On  Friday,  Edgar  was  to  drive  out  in  the  new  touring- 
car,  bringing  with  him  Mat  and  Diantha.  Fanning  was 
to  motor  over  from  Lake  Forest  in  his  emerald-green 
roadster, — these  four  preceding  two  or  three  older  guests 
who  were  due  to  appear  the  following  day. 

Eddie  had  tea  ready  in  the  big  room  at  five,  but  it 
cooled  and  they   came  not.      He  toured  the  house   and 
grounds    seven    or    eight    times,    observing    lacunae    and 
remedying  the  remediable.     For  example: — 
85 


86    THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS 

"Agnes !"  he  shouted  down  the  back  hall. 

"Sir." 

"Where  are  the  wash-cloths?" 

"There  ain't  any,  sir.  No,  sir.  I  spoke  to  you  about 
it  yesterday,  the  same  time  I  asked  you  to  get  a  colander 
and  some  paring-knives  and  a  carpet-sweeper." 

"Oh!"  said  Eddie,  hoping  the  family  would  bring  their 
own  sponges.  Perhaps  after  dinner  he  could  slip  away 
to  Egmont  and  bring  back  a  few  necessaries. 

The  big  room  pleased  him  fairly  well.  Except  for  a 
few  cushions  over  which  he  had  draped  loose  lengths  of 
chintz  to  obtain  certain  last-minute  color  effects,  it  was 
nearly  complete;  and  he  counted  on  its  creating  a  sensa- 
tion. The  floor,  the  dado,  and  the  woodwork  were  a  deep, 
brilliant  blue  enamel.  The  ceiling  and  frieze  were  cal- 
cimined  a  golden  green,  the  walls  were  painted  a  delicious 
clear,  creamy  yellow.  Curtains  and  rugs  were  of  the  most 
brilliant  imaginable  plum  color,  bordered  with  lines  of  blue 
and  yellow.  The  mantel  was  painted  blue  and  plum  color, 
and  was  ornamented  with  a  flat  jade  bowl  at  either  end, 
and  a  beautiful  alabaster  figurine  in  the  middle.  Some  of 
the  furniture  was  painted  yellow  and  some  green.  The 
tea-table  was  plum  colored,  set  out  with  white  Wedgewood 
and  silver,  and  well  after  the  hour  of  tea  he  forbade  the 
removal  of  the  things,  which  were  essential  notes.  Lark- 
spur stood  in  white  Satsuma  jars,  white  peonies  in  a  brass 
bowl.  Through  the  windows  gleamed  the  powdery  gold 
refulgence  of  late  afternoon  across  the  valley,  while  the 
little  stage, — opening  as  it  did  on  the  orchard  through  a 
series  of  latticed  casements, — lay  in  cool  eastern  light. 

Dinner  was  ready  long  before  the  motor  appeared  on 
the  drive.  To  Eddie's  great  disappointment,  the  one 
desire  of  the  passengers  was  to  wash  and  eat  before  seeing 
any  of  the  sights,  and  he  was  obliged  to  sit  through  dinner 
with  what  patience  he  might,  in  a  dining-room  which  was 
unchanged,  except  for  clean  paint. 


THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS    87 

Fan  telephoned  that  he  had  been  delayed  until  the  next 
day,  when  he  would  drive  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Gurney  over  with 
him. 

"Eddie,"  said  his  father,  "you  take  the  young  Powells 
around  your  zoo,  and  let  me  poke  about  the  house  by 
myself.  I'm  all  in,  and  I  can't  climb  any  mountains  to- 
night." 

"We'll  just  go  around  with  you,  Cousin  Edgar,"  said 
Diantha.  "There'll  be  plenty  of  time  for  outdoors  to- 
morrow." If  Edgar  had  planned  to  be  alone  while  laying 
ghosts,  he  was  thwarted :  but  after  all,  the  ghosts  had  been 
mostly  exorcised  with  plum-colored  paint. 

"You  must  see  the  living-room  while  it's  light,"  said 
Eddie,  trembling  with  excitement  now  that  the  parade  was 
really  under  way. 

"Gee!"  Diantha  exclaimed  from  the  doorway.  The 
saffron  twilight  trailed  across  the  horizon,  and  Eddie's 
color  scheme  profited  by  the  half-light. 

"I'd  never  know  it,"  murmured  Edgar,  for  once  sur- 
prised out  of  his  bantering  poise.  "I'm  really  as- 
tonished." 

Both  Edgar  and  Mat  were  attuned  to  respond  to  the 
powerful  color  notes  which  gave  Diantha  the  giggles.  At 
that  time  she  pined  for  a  boudoir  in  gray  satin  and  rose 
brocade,  with  chiffon  lamp-shades. 

"So  those  are  the  old  Windsor  chairs.  I  barely  recog- 
nize them." 

"Yes,  and  this  is  a  plain,  ordinary  kitchen  table." 

"Very  nice,  very  nice.  Yes,  I  think  I  can  live  here 
now." 

"Good  stuff,  old  Eddie,"  said  Mat,  slapping  his  shoul- 
der. "Lead  on." 

He  conducted  them  through  the  rooms  of  the  main  floor 
and  then  out  on  the  terrace,  hoping  their  curiosity  would 
lure  them  up  the  hill;  but  they  found  themselves  very 
comfortable  in  the  wicker  chairs  he  had  provided,  and 
could  not  be  budged.  It  was  an  odorous  June  evening ;  the 


88    THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS 

darkening  of  the  valley  and  the  advent  of  the  infrequent 
stars  proceeded  with  ceremonial  beauty. 

"I  do  wish "  Eddie  began:  but  his  voice  failed  be- 
fore anyone  had  paid  attention. 

"It's  heavenly  to  be  here,"  said  Diantha,  stretching  her 
young  legs  in  front  of  her.  "Hickory  Place  is  pretty  pub- 
lic in  summer,  isn't  it,  Mat?" 

"All  the  Dagoes  go  down  to  the  lake  that  way,"  Mat 
explained. 

"While  you're  here  you  must  forget  town  and  school 
and  home  and  everything  else  but  fresh  air,"  said  Cousin 
Edgar.  "You  need  fresh  air." 

He  thought  Diantha  needed  also  a  little  of  nature's 
simplicity.  She  wore  a  pompadour  and  two  cheap  brace- 
lets, and  called  all  good  things  "dandy"  and  all  bad  ones 
"smelly" ;  and  she  had  lost  some  of  the  quaint  precision 
of  her  accent.  It  would  do  her  good  to  be  away  from 
Hickory  Place  for  a  few  months. 

The  entire  evening  passed  without  any  move  being 
made  away  from  the  terrace,  except  upstairs  to  bed. 

"You  win  with  that  terrace,"  said  Mat.  "You  might 
have  left  off  the  house  altogether :  nobody's  going  to  want 
to  go  into  it." 

Eddie  made  a  long  pilgrimage  up  the  hill  by  starlight, 
to  gaze  at  his  beloved  colonnade  against  the  wide  sky, 
at  the  slowly-filling  pool,  and  at  the  white  plaster  model 
of  the  girl  and  the  panther.  Everything  was  as  he  had 
planned.  For  half  an  hour  he  sat  worshiping  before  his 
goddess. 

The  next  morning  Edgar  was  late  to  breakfast,  having 
risen  early  to  take  a  quiet,  uninterrupted  stroll.  He  was 
delighted  with  Redgate  Farms  as  they  now  met  the  eye, 
and  his  tutelary  genius  informed  him  that  he  was  to  find 
peace  there. 

"But  where,"  he  asked,  coming  out  on  the  terrace  where 
the  table  was  set,  "where  did  you  get  that  old  eyesore 


THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS    89 

you've  stuck  up  between  the  pool  and  the  pillars?  The 
woman's  got  two  knee-pans  on  one  leg." 

Poor  Eddie  mumbled  something.  He  was  struck  with 
sickness  and  suffering  in  that  instant,  and  the  day  turned 
to  ink. 

"You  must  take  a  look  at  it,"  Edgar  continued  to  the 
Powells.  "It's  really  rare.  We'll  get  something  pretty 
and  put  there ;  you  hit  the  location  to  a  T,  and  the  whole 
scheme's  a  great  improvement.  Be  sure  you  all  look  at  the 
statue,  though;  it's  priceless." 

It  never  occurred  to  him  that  Eddie  had  had  time  to 
create  statuary  while  supervising  all  the  work  on  the 
place;  he  thought  the  concrete  company  had  foisted  some 
misbegotten  garden  ornament  on  him. 

After  breakfast,  when  Mat  and  Diantha  were  about  to 
start  through  the  orchard  to  the  pool,  Eddie  with  dreadful 
eagerness  packed  them  off  to  the  village  to  buy  various 
commodities  against  the  arrival  of  Fan  and  the  Gurneys. 
Then  arming  himself  with  a  hatchet,  he  hurried  up  to 
the  altar,  and  began  desecrating  it  with  frenzied  blows. 

Edgar  heard  the  sounds,  and  hoisting  himself  from  his 
lounge,  rambled  up  through  the  orchard.  At  the  corner 
of  the  path  he  halted,  shocked.  Poor  Eddie  was  smiting 
away  at  the  stump  of  the  image,  which  lay  in  chunks  and 
bits  over  the  new  turf;  his  face  was  ghastly  white  and 
twisted,  his  movements  were  almost  convulsive.  Edgar 
hastily  walked  away,  shaken  and  sorrowful.  Not  for 
worlds  would  he  have  wounded  the  boy.  There  was  nothing 
to  be  done,  however,  and  silence  was  to  be  preserved. 

"Odd,  though,"  he  said  to  himself.  "It  shows  that  a 
chap  can  decorate  houses  and  lay  out  terraces  by  natural 
genius,  and  not  come  any  dreadful  croppers;  but  when 
you  sculp,  you  must  found  your  actions  on  positive 
knowledge." 

Just  before  luncheon  the  green  roadster  appeared,  with 
Mr.  Gurney  bouncing  among  the  suitcases  in  the  rumble, 


90    THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE:  POWELLS 

and  Mrs.  Gurney  radiant  beside  the  driver,  her  large  hat 
adhering  to  her  pompadour  through  the  agency  of  a  sky- 
blue  chiffon  veil;  and  Edgar  did  the  honors  with  a  hos- 
pitable zeal  he  had  not  felt  since  the  first  years  of  his 
marriage.  Decidedly,  Redgate  pleased  him. 

Gurney  was  a  college  friend  who  had  ridden  the  same 
hobbies  with  him  for  years,  from  prison  reform  to  the 
forty-eight-hour  week.  He  had  gone  into  business,  and 
lost  his  first  ardor  for  remaking  the  world,  but  he  and 
Edgar  still  spoke  the  same  language. 

Prissie  Gurney  was  now  a  delightful  woman  of  forty, 
whom  Edgar  had  known  since  her  dancing-school  days, 
without  ever  succumbing  to  her  charms.  She  was  by  na- 
ture a  flirt,  but  a  thoroughly  good  fellow  about  it,  and 
for  the  last  twenty  years  she  had  not  tried  her  wiles  on 
Edgar. 

"Well,  Di !"  exclaimed  Fanning,  rising  from  the  lunch- 
table  to  meet  his  young  cousin,  "how  are  you?  Lord, 
but  you're  getting  pretty !" 

Diantha  blushed  and  took  her  place,  confused  by  the 
presence  of  strangers. 

"Old  Eddie  made  a  ten-strike  with  his  rebuilding,  don't 
you  think?  Isn't  the  place  bully?" 

"It's  a  peach,"  murmured  Diantha,  drooping  her  shell- 
like  eyelids. 

"Very  clever,"  struck  in  Mrs.  Gurney.  "Absolutely 
the  new  note.  I  can't  think  how  you  hit  it  right  in  the 
middle  as  you  did.  Only  a  very  few  houses  around  New 
York  have  anything  like  this,  especially  the  living-room 
and  the  entrance-hall." 

Eddie  blushed  in  his  turn,  and  admired  Mrs.  Gurney's 
discrimination.  She  chatted  with  Fanning  about  the  boat 
race  at  New  London  as  if  she  really  cared  who  won.  After 
luncheon  he  drove  her  over  to  the  Country  Club  for  golf, 
and  at  tea  afterward  he  showed  her  the  picture  in  the  back 
of  his  watch,  asking  her  advice  in  a  matter  of  tactics 
— namely,  How  Soon  to  Write  Again.  The  counsel  she 


THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS    91 

gave  him  was  serious  and  authoritative,  and  showed  her 
to  be  a  wise  woman. 

"I  want  you  to  learn  to  ride,  Diantha,"  said  Edgar. 
"Oh,  never  mind  clothes.  Eddie,  telephone  down  to  the 
stable  for  Barnes  to  bring  up  old  Topsy  with  the  side- 
saddle. You  boys  can  take  out  the  other  horses.  I  want 
you  to  stick  right  by  her  side  and  pick  her  up  when  she 
falls  off." 

This  should  have  been  exciting  enough,  but  it  was  not 
what  Diantha  had  counted  upon.  She  had  wanted  to  play 
with  Fanning,  and  since  he  had  absented  himself,  a  horse 
was  almost  as  savorless  as  a  street-car  .  .  .  However, 
the  horse  was  at  hand,  and  Fanning  several  miles  away: 
so  she  smiled  on  her  brother  and  on  Eddie,  and  permitted 
them  to  laugh  at  her  while  she  clutched  the  pommel  and 
Topsy's  reverend  mane. 

"You  ought  to  get  a  habit,"  said  Edgar,  from  the  steps. 
Topsy  was  sedately  circling  about  the  drive. 

"Yes,"  said  Diantha,  wondering  who  was  to  pay  for 
it.  Her  outfit  for  the  summer  had  been  wrung  painfully 
out  of  very  little  cash  and  a  trunkful  of  Josie's  cast-off 
equipment.  One  item,  in  particular,  vexed  her.  She  had 
plenty  of  white  shoes,  though  no  new  ones ;  but  Josie's 
feet  were  two  sizes  wider  than  Diantha's,  and  the  latter 
young  person  fancied  that  the  eyes  of  the  world  were 
glued  to  what  she  bitterly  referred  to  as  the  "clod- 
hoppers" from  which  her  pipe-stem  ankles  rose.  Through- 
out her  visit  to  Redgate  she  sat  on  her  feet,  twined  them 
about  the  hind  legs  of  chairs,  and  otherwise  endeavored  to 
abolish  them  from  the  visible  universe. 

She  and  Mat  had  a  gossip  before  dinner,  while  her 
muscles  were  stiffening  after  the  ride. 

"Eddie's  changed  a  lot,  hasn't  he?"  said  Mat,  as  he  took 
one  book  after  another  from  the  shelves  for  purposes  of 
examination. 

"Yes,  and  Cousin  Edgar's  changed  when  he's  with  him." 

"They  tell  you  money  spoils  people.    I  don't  see  where 


92    THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS 

Eddie's  spoiled,  and  he's  had  the  spending  of  a  lot  of 
money.  .  .  .  You  know,  Cousin  Edgar  must  be  as  rich 
as  mud." 

"Not  rich  like  Cousin  Tolman." 

"Well,  when  you  get  to  slinging  money  around  this 
way,  a  little  more  or  less  doesn't  matter,  I  suppose  .  .  . 
You  know  it's  all  wrong,  Di.  It's  a  ridiculous  system  that 
puts  thousands  of  dollars  into  the  hands  of  a  boy  of 
seventeen,  to  buy  Corinthian  columns  and  purple  window- 
shades  with." 

"Well,  you  like  it  well  enough  when  you  can  sit  in  the 
middle  of  it." 

"Right  you  are,  Di.  You  never  see  me  through  rose- 
colored  spectacles,  do  you?" 

For  answer  she  rumpled  his  long,  sleek  front  hair,  and 
pulled  his  ear. 

"Di,  have  you  been  up  in  Fan's  room?" 

"No,  why?" 

"Well,  you  want  to  take  a  look  at  the  photograph  on 
his  bureau." 

"Oh,  indeed?"  said  Diantha,  tossing  her  pompadour. 
She  had  given  Fanning  one  of  her  pictures  the  previous 
Christmas,  at  his  request. 

"A  queen !"  her  brother  declared.  "Go  on  up  now,  Di, 
before  he  gets  back;  she's  worth  looking  at." 

Realizing  that  the  fondest  of  brothers  would  not  have 
so  eulogized  her  picture  before  her  face,  she  judged  it 
wise  to  follow  his  counsel. 

"You  come  along,  Matty.  I  don't  want  to  be  caught 
all  by  myself  in  there,  peering  at  a  photograph." 

The  two  voyaged  to  Fan's  room  and  entered.  The 
frame  was  resplendent  chased  silver ;  the  picture  measured 
about  twelve  inches  by  eighteen,  and  represented  a  very 
beautiful  girl  with  earrings. 

"She  looks  foreign,  don't  you  think?" 

Mat's  comment  was  based  on  the  earrings,  and  on  her 
coiffure,  which  was  severe  and  faintly  rippling  close  to 


THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS    93 

the  shape  of  her  head,  in  an  age  of  marcelled  pompadours. 
The  eyes  were  dark  and  deep-set,  and  obviously  their 
possessor,  had  wished  to  appear  mysterious  and  sophis- 
ticated ;  but  the  greatest  charm  of  her  face  lay  in  the  in- 
consistent youthful  curve  of  her  cheeks  and  the  corners 
of  her  mouth. 

"Who  do  you  suppose  she  is?"  Mat  pursued.  "I'd 
like  to  know  her.  I'll  bet  a  quarter  she's  interesting." 

"Interesting!"  Diantha  sniffed.  "You'd  fall  for  any 
old  freak  in  earrings.  Ladies  don't  wear  them." 

"Feminine  jealousy,"  said  Mat,  derisively.  "Show  me 
a  girl  that'll  admit  another  girl's  pretty." 

"Men  are  dreadfully  gullible.  If  a  girl's  really  beauti- 
ful, I'll  admit  it  in  a  second.  Look  at  the  nose  in  that 
picture !"  Be  it  said  that  Diantha's  nose  was  an  authen- 
tic masterpiece  which  not  even  the  regrettable  defects 
of  her  flapperdom  could  quite  subdue.  "I'll  wager  she 
paints." 

"Well,  you  powder  your  perfect  proboscis  till  it's  a 
public  scandal." 

"Oh,  come  on,  Mat,  you  know  you  wouldn't  like  it  if  it 
glistened  like  a  stick  of  barley-sugar." 

Bickering  pleasantly,  they  drifted  across  the  hall  to 
the  stair-landing,  where  there  was  a  bench. 

"How  do  you  like  Mrs.  Gurney?"  Mat  asked. 

"How  do  you?" 

"She's  the  most  charming  woman  of  her  age  I  ever  met." 

"Oh!"  cried  Diantha,  aghast. 

"What's  the  matter?" 

"How  can  you  compare  her  to  Mother?" 

"Why,  she  isn't  within  twenty  years  of  Mother's 
age." 

"Within  five,  I  bet." 

They  argued  this. 

"Mother,"  said  Diantha,  "is  my  ideal  of  a  lady." 

"Di,  you  mustn't  talk  so  much  about  ladies.  People 
don't  do  it." 


94    THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS 

"Some  people  don't  know  how  to  be  it:  and  lots  of 
people  don't  seem  to  recognize  it  when  they  see  it 

"Well,  what  is  a  lady?" 

"A  woman  that  behaves  as  if  she  belonged  to  a  nice 
family." 

"Are  you  one?" 

"I  hope  so" — in  a  pious  tone. 

"Well,  is  Josie  one?" 

"No." — This  they  had  agreed  upon  for  years. 

"Well,  why  isn't  Mrs.  Gurney?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  say  she  isn't  one,  but  she  isn't  refined 
like  Mother." 

"At  least  she's  frightfully  intelligent." 

"You  think  everybody's  intelligent  if  they  butter  you 
enough." 

"She  didn't  butter  me." 

"Yes,  she  did;  with  her  eyes." 

"Well,  perhaps."    Mat  was  none  the  less  pleased. 


HI 

UNQUESTIONABLY  Mrs.  Gurney  was  the  belle  of  Redgate, 
and  Diantha  heartily  wished  she  would  go  home.  She  was 
the  first  example  Diantha  had  encountered  of  a  woman 
of  forty  whose  chief  popularity  was  among  men;  and 
without  impugning  her  morals  Diantha  wished  she  had  a 
livelier  consciousness  of  being  middle-aged  and  married. 
Not  only  did  she  join  on  equal  terms,  as  the  young  people 
were  incapable  of  doing,  in  the  long  discussions  which  her 
husband  and  Edgar  waged  in  the  study ;  her  golf  was  so 
excellent  that  Fan  found  her  a  foeman  worthy  of  being 
his  ally,  and  arranged  mixed  foursomes  in  which  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Pringle,  the  paladins  of  the  Egmont  Club,  bit  the 
dust  before  them.  Mat,  to  the  disgust  of  his  sister,  fell 
completely  and  abjectly  in  love. 

Eddie  was  Di's  greatest  comfort,  for  he  at  least  was 
not  susceptible  where  Mrs.  Gurney  was  concerned.  These 
two  often  rode  down  the  valley, — for  Di  took  but  little 
time  to  acclimate  herself  to  the  saddle, — and  exchanged 
withering  comments  on  "Circe." 

"Did  you  see  her?  After  breakfast?  She  watched  Fan 
like  a  hawk  while  he  opened  his  mail,  and  then  he  gave 
her  a  look  and  she  gave  him  a  smile,  and  they  rushed  away 
to  read  his  love-letter  in  the  music-room." 

"I  wonder  how  the  Earring  Lady  would  like  it  if  she 
knew  her  letters  were  picked  to  pieces  by  a  harpy." 

"And  old  Mat  prowling  up  and  down  the  hall  with  his 
hands  in  his  pockets,  waiting  to  read  her  a  piece  of 
poetry,  by  appointment." 

"She  says,"  said  Diantha  bitterly,  "she  says  to  my  face, 
'Dear  child,  why  don't  I  see  more  of  you?     People  have 
always  told  me  I  was  a  man's  woman !'  " 
95 


96    THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS 

"She  positively  enjoys  getting  Fan  off  away  from  you." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  cried  Diantha,  furious.  "I  don't 
chase  after  Fan  the  way  she  does." 

"Oh,  I  didn't  mean  that,"  said  Eddie,  meaning  every 
word  of  it.  He  could  see  well  enough  where  Diantha's 
heart  lay. 

"I  don't  care  about  Fan  one  bit."  This  sounded  over- 
vehement  as  it  hung  on  the  quiet  summer  air,  so  she  turned 
the  attack.  "Don't  you  ever  care  about  anybody,  Eddie? 
Haven't  you  got  any  lady's  picture  on  your  bureau?" 

"I  have  yours,"  he  answered,  bantering. 

"Oh,  bosh.     Haven't  you  ever  been  in  love?" 

"Yes,  I've  been  in  love."    And  he  shut  his  mouth  tightly. 

"Was  she  in  love  with  you?" 

"I'm  not  the  sort  of  a  chap  a  girl  falls  in  love  with, 
Di,"  he  said;  and  in  spite  of  her  familiarity  with  him, 
she  dared  press  her  questions  no  farther.  She  felt  occa- 
sionally the  force  of  stark,  bitter  strength  in  his  character. 
She  thought  him  without  illusions,  and  it  is  true  he  was 
not  subject  to  the  easy  glamor  of  Prissie  Gurney,  being 
the  victim  of  an  obsession  perhaps  no  better  founded. 

They  rode  slowly  back  along  the  river  path,  with  the 
water  singing  among  the  roots  of  the  willows ;  his  eyes 
dwelt  on  the  back  of  her  fair  head,  dressed  smooth  and 
small  for  the  ride.  The  sunlight  splashed  gold,  silver  and 
flame  across  it  as  she  moved  in  and  out  of  the  shadow. 
It  was  thus  that  he  always  thought  of  her,  shimmering 
with  light.  As  they  rode  his  consciousness  was  concen- 
trated into  something  like  a  prayer,  that  his  wonderful 
girl  might  have  all  her  will  of  the  world,  and  be  happy, 
happy  .  .  .  He  yearned  over  her  with  the  intimacy  and 
the  remoteness  of  someone  who  had  died.  Unless  it  would 
add  to  her  happiness,  why  should  he  tell  her  that  he  loved 
her?  Yet  he  knew  that  this  love  of  his  for  her  was  differ- 
ent in  degree  and  in  kind  from  Mat's  calf  love  for  Mrs. 
Gurney,  or  Fan's  infatuation  for  Anita  of  the  Earrings, 
or  yet  Edgar's  poisoned  and  stifled  passion  for  Naomi. 


IV 

IN  all,  the  Gurneys'  visit  took  only  two  weeks  out  of 
the  summer,  and  by  the  time  they  left,  Diantha  had 
learned  some  things  in  spite  of  herself.  For  Prissie  Gur- 
ney,  in  spite  of  Di's  strictures,  was  every  inch  a  lady,  and 
her  fascinations  were  quite  legitimate.  Edgar  was  pleased 
to  note  the  disappearance  of  Diantha's  two  bracelets,  and 
a  greater  adhesive  quality  between  her  skirts  and  waists 
at  the  back,  as  well  as  the  return  of  gracious  modulations 
to  her  high-school  voice.  And  after  Mrs.  Gurney's  de- 
parture Di's  social  prestige  increased.  "The  competition 
has  been  pretty  unfair  .  .  ."  Edgar  said,  smiling,  to 
himself.  Her  place  was  taken  by  Josie  and  two  or  three 
of  her  friends.  None  of  these,  however,  rivaled  Diantha 
in  the  eyes  of  the  boys  who  came  and  went  (about  the 
house  during  this,  her  first  summer  of  blossoming. 

She  had  not  been  popular  in  high-school,  where  she  had 
acquired  the  name  of  Nosy,  not  because  she  was  inquisi- 
tive, but  because  she  carried  the  feature  indicated  in  a 
proud  manner.  She  expanded  deliciously  in  the  easy, 
pleasure-seeking  atmosphere  of  Redgate  Farms,  and  with 
appreciation  her  charm  increased. 

Taking  a  leaf  out  of  the  book  of  Fan's  inamorata,  she 
preceded  the  mode  by  two  or  three  years,  dressing  her 
hair  in  a  plain  classic  knot.  It  was  brown,  with  lights 
of  silver  and  gold,  less  dark  than  her  straight,  fine  eye- 
brows. She  tanned  to  a  pleasant  cream  color,  warmed 
with  pink,  like  a  blonde  apricot.  And  the  ignominy  of 
wearing  Josie's  cast-off  dresses  before  her  was  mitigated 
by  the  comparison,  daily  instituted,  between  the  success 
of  Josie's  old  clothes  on  Diantha  and  her  new  ones  on 
herself. 

97 


98    THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS 

Many  threads  lay  in  Edgar's  hands  during  those  days, 
and  as  occasion  arose  he  knotted  them  into  his  fabric, 
almost  without  the  knowledge  of  the  children.  Not  all  his 
previsions  of  the  summer  came  to  pass:  for  instance,  the 
debating  society  utterly  failed  to  reorganize,  although 
Edgar  had  rather  artlessly  drawn  up  a  list  of  new  and 
piquant  subjects  to  propound. 

They  sat  one  afternoon  about  the  tea-table,  at  which 
Diantha  presided  daily;  and  a  small  dispute  arising  over 
the  last  cocoanut  cup-cake  brought  to  Mat's  mind  the 
famous  boxes  of  caramels. 

"I  say,  Cousin  Edgar,  do  you  remember  that  crazy  little 
debating  club  we  had  one  winter  at  your  house?"  he  said. 
He  was  devoting  the  bulk  of  his  attention  to  the  re- 
stringing  of  a  tennis-racket,  an  art  in  which  he  pretended 
to  some  skill.  "And  the  time  Fan  and  I  fit  with  our 
fists?" 

"And  smashed  the  blue  urn?"  put  in  Diantha. 

Fan  smiled  his  patronizing  sophomore  smile,  and  thrust 
his  hands  into  his  pockets  in  imitation  of  his  father. 

"Not  a  half  bad  idea,  those  debates,"  he  said.  "I 
shouldn't  wonder  if  it  started  us  thinking.  Don't  you 
find  you  have  a  broader  view  of  life  than  chaps  in  your 
class,  Mat?" 

Eddie,  having  been  deprived  of  the  gymnastic  of  meas- 
uring wits  with  his  intelligent  cousins,  permitted  himself 
a  laugh.  "Darn  broad  you  are,  Fan,"  he  jeered.  "You 
wouldn't  stick  your  nose  out  of  your  club  if  Heaven 
was  just  across  the  square." 

Fan  ruffled  at  once,  and  a  furrow  marked  his  godlike 
brow.  "I  don't  see  what  connection  a  fellow's  mental 
scope  has  with  his  environment." 

"If  you  wanted  to  be  broad,  you  could  hunt  up  fellows 
at  Harvard  that  you  wouldn't  have  to  patronize  intel- 
lectually." 

"Well,"  said  Fan.  "If  you  happen  to  want  to  make 
friends  among  your  own  class,  you  have  to  put  up  with 


THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS     99 

their  characteristic  deficiencies.  But  I  tell  you  I've  opened 
the  eyes  of  more  than  one  of  them — talking  just  the  same 
old  stuff  that  Mat  and  I  used  to  jaw  over,  about  the  tariff 
and  the  single  tax  and  uniform  divorce  laws.  Lord,  we 
were  funny!" 

Edgar,  sitting  back,  listened  and  learned  that  the  day 
of  debating  clubs  was  past.  But  the  discussion  waxed 
furious,  in  less  formal  sessions,  starting  often  from  the 
reading  of  the  daily  papers,  an  early  edition  of  which, 
lacking  all  the  latest  news  and  filled  out  with  stories 
about  the  habits  of  the  woodchuck  or  the  history  of  jade- 
carving,  made  their  appearance  with  the  first  post.  It 
proved  that  Mat's  early  tendency  to  Radicalism  was  con- 
trolling his  development.  He  described  himself  as  an 
Eclectic  Socialist,  and  when  asked  to  point  out  the  group 
of  those  who  thought  as  he  did,  he  cheerfully  admitted 
that  perhaps  at  any  given  moment  he  stood  alone, 
no  body  of  thinkers  having  sufficient  agility  to  follow  his 
phases. 

Eddie,  listening  for  the  first  time,  since  he  had  missed 
the  debating  society,  was  caught  at  his  most  impression- 
able period,  and  was  struck  with  his  indictment  of  social 
injustice.  Mat's  pity  for  the  proletariat,  to  whom  it  was 
his  whim  to  allude  as  "the  dispossessed,"  became  real  in 
his  cousin.  Eddie  read  Mat's  books,  and  then  out  of  the 
bibliographies  he  drew  up  new  lists  of  reading  which  went 
far  beyond  Mat's  rather  showy  knowledge.  He  also 
pressed  home  those  principles  which  involved  the  residence, 
in  luxury,  on  a  hill-top  in  the  middle  of  Illinois,  of  half-a- 
dozen  healthy  but  unproductive  citizens.  "Capital  is  jolly 
pleasant  for  the  people  that  have  it,"  he  said,  and  con- 
demned his  own  weakness  for  continuing  to  ride  horses  to 
whose  nurture  he  had  not  contributed. 

"Sometimes  I  wake  up  in  the  night,  Di,"  he  would  say, 
"and  by  Jove  I'm  terrified  of  hell.  I  see  so  clearly  that 
these  things  don't  belong  to  me,  and  yet  I  go  on  using 
them.  It's  moral  suicide — don't  you  see?" 


100  THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS 

Diantha  would  push  her  horse  up  alongside  of  Eddie's 
so  that  she  could  pat  his  hand  protectively. 

"You're  not  responsible  till  you  get  to  be  of  age,  poor 
little  Eddie.  Take  all  the  training  you  can  while  you're 
a  boy.  Every  socialist  is  willing  to  have  young  men  get 
training;  and  the  only  way  you  can  get  it  at  present  is 
through  your  grandfather's  money.  When  you're  twenty- 
one  you'll  be  able  to  do  something  that  counts  in  the 
world,  but  now  isn't  the  time." 

Diantha  had  puzzled  out  this  answer  during  wakeful 
hours,  for  she  took  herself  as  seriously  as  ever  in  her 
capacity  of  monitor.  She  did  not  know  what  angelic  sanc- 
tion attached  to  admonitions  framed  by  her  lips,  and  ac- 
companied by  the  direct  look  of  her  eyes.  It  was  she 
who,  gilding  indifferent  logic  with  her  divinity,  kept  Eddie 
from  fleeing  the  corruptions  of  capital  and  making  his 
own  way,  when  he  first  "got  religion." 

Fanning  meanwhile  pursued  his  way  more  conservatively 
toward  the  future.  He  treated  the  other  boys  kindly,  but 
held  securely  to  his  faith — as  he  was  fond  of  saying — in 
Evolution  rather  than  Revolution.  Edgar  was  forced  to 
listen  to  long  speeches  from  Fanning,  anent  legislation, 
education,  paternal  government,  subsidies,  and  aristoc- 
racy, most  of  which  had  been  familiar  to  him  for  twenty- 
five  years,  and  which  were  prevented  from  boring  him  only 
by  Fan's  extreme  personal  charm. 

It  is  difficult  to  put  into  words  the  likable  atmosphere 
that  the  boy  carried  about  him,  in  part  due  to  health 
and  good  looks,  in  part  to  his  friendly  ways  and  clear, 
hilarious  laugh,  perhaps  in  part  to  a  touching  confidence 
in  his  own  correctness.  Less  clever  than  either  Mat  or 
Eddie,  he  was  far  more  charming.  He  could  give  orders 
without  offense.  If  an  extra  cake  was  wanted  for  a  picnic, 
Fan  was  deputed  to  wheedle  the  cook.  The  village  base- 
ball nine  besought  him  to  pitch  for  them  on  the  Fourth 
of  July.  He  was  on  good  terms  with  the  soda-fountain 
clerks  in  town,  and  knew  most  of  the  village  belles  by 


THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS  101 

their  first  names  within  two  weeks.  They  were  given  to 
stopping  him  on  the  street  to  take  snap-shots  of  him  in 
the  green  roadster,  a  proceeding  to  which  he  submitted 
without  self-consciousness.  One  day  Diantha  was  with  him 
when  this  tribute  was  offered.  "Here's  my  girl,"  he  said, 
seizing  her  by  the  elbow.  "Take  us  together."  Diantha 
blushed  for  five  minutes  afterward,  but  Fan  paid  no  atten- 
tion; it  is  but  fair  to  say  that  he  neither  suspected  nor 
cared  who  was  in  love  with  him,  his  soul  being  tossed 
about  by  the  practiced  vagaries  of  his  dark-eyed  love  on 
Long  Island. 

He  had  written  home  for  permission  to  make  a  trip 
east  in  August,  but  this  was  unaccountably  withheld, 
through  Daisy's  agency — "Not,"  as  she  told  Christine, 
"that  I  like  Diantha  Powell  more,  but  that  I  like  Anita 
de  Cray  infinitely  less ; — and  Diantha's  still  so  young  and 
green,  she  can't  make  more  trouble  in  one  summer  than  I 
can  undo  in  the  fall."  The  elder  Marriotts  and  Josie  were 
spending  the  summer  largely  in  the  north  woods,  and  the 
Lake  Forest  house  was  closed ;  so  Fan's  headquarters  re- 
mained at  Redgate,  where  he  was  quite  happy. 

After  making  sure  that  the  place  possessed  sufficient 
resources  to  prevent  their  being  bored  to  death,  he  invited 
several  of  his  college  friends  out,  one  of  whom  was  fond 
enough  of  him  to  come.  This  youth  remains  a  joyful 
memory  in  the  Marriott  archives;  he  distinguished  him- 
self. It  must  be  said  in  extenuation  that  he  was  passing 
through  the  most  trying  and  unlovable  period  of  a  blame- 
less career,  that  he  was  connected  by  blood  with  the  Adams 
family  of  Massachusetts,  and  that  he  had  never  been 
farther  West  than  Worcester.  The  whole  household  fol- 
lowed him  about,  on  the  lookout  for  stray  gems  of  com- 
parison which  he  might  make,  between  Boston  pnd  Chi- 
cago. He  complimented  Diantha  on  "speaking  quite 
prettily,"  explaining  the  phenomenon  by  her  Springfield 
ancestry  and  early  rearing.  The  Marriott  clan,  which 
had  regarded  itself  as  Eastern  rather  than  Middle-West- 


102  THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS 

ern,  developed  a  rampant  local  patriotism  which  amused 
themselves. 

Fan  freely  admitted  that  his  friend  was  funny,  and 
out  of  chivalry  kept  him  as  much  as  possible  in  his  own 
company,  that  he  might  not  be  given  chances  to  add  to 
the  legend  which  was  growing  up  around  him. 

Unexpectedly  to  himself,  this  young  exquisite  succumbed 
to  Diantha's  unpolished  charms.  He  told  her  as  much, 
and  described  the  struggles  he  had  undergone, — realizing 
the  unsuitability  of  such  an  affection, — to  avoid  speaking 
of  it  and  perhaps  engaging  her  young  heart.  Diantha 
thanked  him  soberly  for  the  compliment  he  had  paid  her, 
and  rushed  away  to  repeat  his  declaration  to  the  family 
conclave,  which  broke  up  amid  shrieks  and  catcalls.  The 
young  Bostonian,  let  me  say  in  passing,  always  looked 
back  on  his  trip  West  as  marking  an  emotional  epoch, 
ancl  flattered  himself  he  had  behaved  very  well.  For  he 
thought,  if  he  had  made  the  effort,  he  might  presumably 
have  kissed  her. 

Mat  was  then  stimulated  into  producing  one  of  his 
friends,  with  the  object  of  beating  Fan's  specimen;  so  he 
asked  out  his  boon  companion,  Ames  Bicknell,  who  was 
devoting  the  interval  between  his  sophomore  and  junior 
years  at  Chicago  to  the  production  of  poetry. 

The  Marriott  verdict  on  Bicknell,  a  surprisingly  toler- 
ant one,  was  that  he  would  have  good  stuff  in  him  when 
he  boiled  down.  "At  present,"  said  Eddie  confidentially 
to  Edgar,  "he's  an  egregious  ass."  He  wore  eyeglasses 
with  a  black  ribbon,  and  a  Lord  Byron  sport-shirt — "a 
combination,"  Fanning  said,  "which  is  likely  to  make  me 
lose  my  lunch."  No  books  were  quite  so  modern  as  the 
books  Ames  Bicknell  brought  in  his  valise. 

"If  he'd  keep  them  to  himself  it  wouldn't  be  so  bad," 
growled  Fan,  "but  if  I  catch  him  trying  to  start  another 
of  his  rotten  old  sex  discussions  with  Di,  I'll  punch  his 
head  for  him."  And  Fan  did  not  forbear  to  point  out  that 
during  his  friend's  visit,  the  atmosphere  of  Redgate,  while 


THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS  103 

stilted,  was  at  least  pure.  Bicknell  believed  at  this  time 
that  the  Artist  must  experience  the  whole  of  life — "for 
the  express  purpose  of  talking  about  it  afterward,  ap- 
parently," said  Eddie,  in  supreme  disgust.  "I  wish  you'd 
put  him  off  the  place,  Dad." 

(Nothing  drew  the  Marriotts  closer  together  than  the 
secret  sessions  at  which  they  blew  off  steam  in  regard  to 
their  guests.) 

Ames  Bicknell's  good  points  were  as  obvious  as  his  bad 
ones.  He  had  not  only  a  nimble  wit  and  a  tongue  hung 
in  the  middle,  but  real  literary  discernment.  And  though 
his  athletic  prowess  was  limited  by  lack  of  early  applica- 
tion, he  did  not  sulk  alone ;  he  enticed  the  whole  robustious 
crew  into  aesthetic  pleasures  more  suited  to  his  capacity. 
For  instance,  he  read  poetry  aloud  to  them  at  tea:  Mat 
had  been  commissioned  to  bid  him  suit  his  selections  to  a 
conservative  taste. 

From  the  moment  of  entering  the  living-room,  his  eye 
had  been  filled  by  the  neat  little  stage,  which  needed 
christening. 

"May  we  get  up  a  play,  sir?"  he  asked  Edgar. 

"Selections  from  Shakespeare?" 

"Ibsen,  more  likely.  I've  been  looking  over  Wilde's 
'Florentine  Tragedy' — it's  incomplete,  you  know,  but  quite 
exquisite." 

"I  suppose  Diantha's  the  heroine?" 

"Ah,  you're  right:  she's  far  from  the  tragic  type." 

"Why  don't  you  do  some  smart  little  comedy,  within 
your  powers?" 

BicknelPs  brows  lifted  piteously.  "But  they're  so 
banal " 

"You  think  so?    Well,  write  one  that  isn't." 

"You  flatter  me,  sir.  I  could  try,  though  .  .  .  some- 
thing whimsy  and  poetic  .  .  ." 

"Whimsy  is  a  noun,"  said  Edgar  brusquely. 

"Surely  you  can't  think  I  didn't  know  whimsy  was  a 
noun? — but  to  me  it  has  an  adjectival  quality." 


104  THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS 

"You  are  the  youngest  person  on  this  farm,"  said 
Edgar,  regaining  his  good  humor.  "Go  off  and  write  your 

play." 

"With  our  little  Diantha  for  heroine,  we're  effectively 
barred  from  the  spice  of  naughtiness  in  the  text." 

"Good  Lord,  yes." 

"It's  a  limitation,  isn't  it,  sir?" 

"It  won't  hurt  you  to  work  under  that  limitation  for 
once  in  a  way.  Writers  just  as  gifted  as  you  have 
managed  to  be  decent.  I'm  the  Board  of  Censors." 

With  no  ill  humor,  Ames  agreed  to  this  curb  on  his 
powers.  Shortly  he  and  Mat  decided  to  collaborate,  and 
spent  three  days  in  the  orchard,  where  the  death  penalty 
hung  over  him  who  should  disturb  the  creative  hush. 


ON  the  third  evening,  the  reading  and  casting  of  the 
piece  was  to  take  place. 

"There  are  eight  characters,"  said  Ames,  adjusting  his 
eyeglass,  the  better  to  scan  the  semicircle  of  auditors,  and 
giving  the  manuscript  a  flip.  "They've  been  written  with 
the  available  talent  more  or  less  in  mind.  These  five  men, 
you  see,  will  be  Eddie,  Fanning,  Mat,  myself,  and  some 
chap  from  town  to  walk  on  as  footman.  I  thought  of 
Otis ;  it's  not  important." 

"What  is  your  part?"  inquired  Edgar. 

"I  am  Sir  Clement." 

"The  hero." 

"Oh,  no,  Fanning's  created  by  nature  for  a  Chocolate 
Soldier.  I  am  a — a  middle-aged  philosopher." 

"Like  me." 

"Oh  no,  sir,"  said  Ames,  reassuringly.  "I  walk  around 
all  right."  After  a  pause  he  blushed.  It  was  the  most 
natural  action  of  his  whole  visit,  and  showed  he  was 
not  beyond  hope. 

"Well,  then,  the  ladies." 

"There's  the  heroine,  Calista ;  that's  the  one  and  only 
Di.  Her  rival, — we'll  use  Sarah  Parott.  That's  a  damn 
good  part.  The  comic  aunt, — Fan  thinks  his  sister  will 
come  down  and  do  that;  she's  not  very  keen  about  Huron 
Mountain.  We'll  wire  her  at  once." 

Rehearsals  were  soon  under  way,  and  Eddie  fell  to 
painting  scenery,  while  Diantha  and  Josie  labored  at  cos- 
tumes. But  there  were  complications. 

Ames  had  rightly  judged  Diantha's  dramatic  talent 
105 


106  THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS 

to  be  slight,  and  had  written  her  role  so  that  the  situa- 
tions and  her  pretty  face  carried  her  through  the  heroine's 
part.  But  Sarah  Parott  did  not  covet  the  privilege  of 
"wriggling  through  three  acts  and  then  letting  Calista  step 
all  over  her  at  the  finish,"  as  she  put  it.  In  short,  she  felt 
that  the  central  role  would  have  been  much  better  filled  by 
herself  than  by  a  scrawny  girl  like  Diantha. 

Josie,  moreover,  when  she  arrived,  found  the  position 
of  "comic  Aunt"  not  at  all  to  her  liking.  She  was  widely 
recognized  as  an  actress,  having  taken  the  part  of  Sir 
Andrew  Aguecheek  at  school;  and  she  was  willing  to  be 
comic ;  but  she  felt  herself  wasted  on  the  crudities  of  Aunt 
Jerusha,  while  the  part  of  Inez  was  clamoring  for  a 
real  presentation. 

"How  simple  it  would  be,"  said  Ames  to  Mat,  after 
living  through  two  diplomatic  contretemps  with  the  ladies 
involved,  "if  Sarah  Parott  only  happened  to  want  to  be 
Aunt  Jerusha !" 

"Or  if  Di  did." 

"Not  a  bit  of  it.  Calista  is  Di's  part:  it's  the  only  one 
she'd  be  any  good  in,  and  it  suits  her  to  a  T." 

"I  could  make  Di  change  in  a  minute.  She  doesn't 
care." 

"You  will  do  no  such  thing.  She  and  Fan  will  be  per- 
fect in  the  final  tableau.  Do  leave  it  as  it  is." 

"You  can  write  another  'good-looking'  part  for  Sarah 
and  then  we'll  move  Josie  into  'Inez,'  and  look  for  a 
different  Aunt  Jerusha  entirely." 

"I'll  be  damned  if  I'll  toady  to  them  to  that  degree." 

"Then  it's  up  to  you  to  keep  them  calm :  I  can't !" 

Ames  was  willing  to  try ;  and  in  fact  by  the  simple  expe- 
dient of  making  love  to  Sarah,  he  reconciled  her  to  the 
arduous  writhings  of  her  part;  and  this  left  no  potential 
vacancy  for  Josie  to  fill,  so  that  she  was  obliged  to  work 
up  Aunt  Jerusha  as  best  she  could. 

To  Diantha  these  early  August  days  were  like  a  delight- 


THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE*  POWELLS  107 

ful  cinematograph  turned  much  too  fast.  Later  she  had 
time  to  reconstruct  her  memories,  and  they  were  pure 
gold.  For  the  first  time  in  her  life  she  was  in  an  atmos- 
phere of  ease  and  dignity,  as  by  right;  and  she  was 
acknowledged  queen  of  Redgate.  In  the  city  the  friends 
she  had  made  were  not  the  intimates  she  would  have  chosen, 
for  it  happened  that  the  pace  for  her  class  at  school  was 
set  by  a  pretty,  vulgar  young  person  too  old  for  her 
years.  Not  being  willing  to  shine  in  competition  with  this 
luminary,  she  had  still  felt  hurt  at  her  lack  of  popularity, 
and  had  in  a  measure  conformed  to  the  taste  she  despised. 

Now,  among  friends  who  valued  most  in  her  the  rare 
and  sensitive  qualities  which  were  her  birthright,  she  let 
them  expand,  and  delighted  in  herself.  Her  laughter  was 
often  heard  about  the  house,  buoyant  and  irrepressible, 
but  always  silvery.  It  cannot  be  said  that  she  was  a  wit, 
but  she  was  intelligent,  and  took  a  fair  feminine  share  in 
the  talk.  The  boys  told  her  about  the  pranks  with 
which  they  enlivened  the  population  of  Egmont,  and  once 
or  twice  when  their  mood  and  hers  fitted  for  deviltry, 
she  joined  them  on  their  escapades,  though  it  must  be 
admitted  that  Josie  was  a  better  torn-boy  than  Diantha. 

The  play — which  was  called  "The  Lass  with  the  Delicate 
Air," — absorbed  nearly  all  their  waking  hours.  From  the 
carriage-house,  where  Eddie  was  boiling  glue,  stretching 
burlap  on  frames,  and  painting  from  the  tops  of  ladders, 
to  the  study  where  the  girls  addressed  invitations,  all  of 
Redgate  was  involved.  The  mornings  were  taken  up  with 
fragmentary  rehearsals,  coached  by  Ames  Bicknell.  Every 
afternoon  at  three  there  was  a  general  rehearsal,  which 
usually  lasted  through  tea.  The  girls  sewed  industri- 
ously on  the  costumes,  and  helped  Eddie  with  his  calci- 
mine-brushes. Mat  was  having  a  facetious  program 
printed  in  the  village. 

"It's  darned  annoying,"  said  Fan,  "that  I've  got  this 
tennis  tournament  on  my  hands." 


108  THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS 

He  had,  indeed,  organized  this  at  the  club,  and  was 
working  his  way  up  through  the  preliminaries,  so  that 
his  time  and  Mat's  was  doubly  burdened. 

In  the  mornings  Ames  Bicknell  was  restless  without  his 
bridge,  and  Josie  had  taken  ten  lessons  from  a  profes- 
sional ;  so  they  impressed  others  into  the  game,  and  talked 
over  the  heads  of  these  unfortunates  about  mistakes  in 
the  play.  After  one  or  two  experiences  with  her,  they 
agreed  that  Di  had  no  card  sense ;  but  Sarah  was  not  im- 
possible, and  now  and  then  Edgar  would  play  a  few  rub- 
bers in  a  disconcerting  style  of  his  own,  which  exasperated 
the  experts  by  its  breezy  disregard  of  the  conventions, 
and  yet  often  verged  on  genius. 

"How  can  I  tell  what's  in  your  hand,  partner?"  Ames 
would  inquire  reproachfully.  "You  began  the  bidding 
with  four  diamonds,  and  yet  I  had  three  honors  in  my  own 
hand,  which  you  couldn't  possibly  know.  It's  sort  of 
upsetting." 

"Don't  you  worry,"  Cousin  Edgar  would  reply,  gazing 
quizzically  at  his  new  hand,  which  he  never  took  the  trouble 
to  sort,  "I  was  playing  it,  not  you.  I  had  a  strong  feel- 
ing those  diamonds  weren't  against  me,  and  anyway  I  had 
another  idea.  Did  you  notice  those  low  clubs  ?" 

Sometimes  he  would  explain  what  he  had  meant  by  his 
irregular  conduct,  more  often  not;  sometimes  he  discom- 
fited his  adversaries,  again  they  reaped  great  profit  from 
him;  but  at  no  time  was  he  what  Ames  regarded  as  a 
satisfactory  partner. 

Many  jokes  were  current  about  the  final  scene  of  the 
play,  in  which,  as  the  script  put  it,  "Lord  Bobby 
takes  Calista  in  his  arms,  and  kisses  her  squarely  on 
the  lips."  Diantha  enjoyed  the  rehearsal  of  this  passage, 
although  it  was  not  often  considered  necessary  by  Mat, 
in  whom  the  author  warred  with  the  brother.  Ames  Bick- 
nell, however,  had  no  intention  of  losing  the  last  piquant 
effect,  and  one  day  when  Mat  was  playing  tennis  he  put 


THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE   POWELLS  109 

the  hero  and  heroine  through  repeatedly.  Cousin  Edgar 
sauntered  in  just  as  matters  were  approaching  their 
climax. 

"  'Have  you  forgiven  me  yet  for  the  trick  I  played 
on  you,  Calista?'  "  said  Fanning. 

"  'Oh,  Bobby,  it  was  the  dearest  trick  in  the  world!'" 
replied  Diantha. 

"Now !"  said  Ames,  dancing  before  them.  "Take  a 
good  hold  of  her.  Kiss  her  the  way  they  do  in  the  movies. 
Hold  it— hold  it— while  I  count  fifteen  .  .  .  There!  Quick 
curtain !" 

Diantha,  a  deep  pink,  and  Fanning,  as  cool  as  a  cu- 
cumber, turned  to  ask  Edgar's  opinion.  There  was  that 
in  his  eye, — a  malicious  spark, — which  launched  Fan  into 
apologies. 

"It's  all  in  the  day's  work,  isn't  it,  Di?  Just  like 
professional  actors.  You  don't  really  think  of  it  in  a 
personal  way  at  all." 

"Of  course  not,"  Edgar  replied  politely.  Diantha  was 
piqued. 

The  valley  lay  half-dissolved  in  a  lake  of  amber  after- 
noon light,  hot  and  sweet-scented, — August  weather. 
Reaping-machines  were  plying  like  industrious  insects 
across  the  burnished  golden  shoulders  of  the  hill-fields,  fell- 
ing the  grain  in  swaths  and  casting  it  bound  behind  them. 
The  river,  far  below,  sent  up  a  dazzle  of  white  fire ;  the  sky 
stood  firmly  on  its  unseen  arches,  the  west  illuminated 
and,  as  it  were,  expanded  by  the  imperious  bland  brilliance 
of  the  sun,  but  modulating  eastward  to  show  its  walls  of 
deep,  transparent  blue,  a  blue  almost  somber  in  its  inten- 
sity. 

They  sat  scattered  on  the  terrace,  with  their  young 
limbs  flung  like  scarves  across  the  chairs  and  stone 
benches.  The  iced  coffee  had  disappeared,  as  had  the 
cinammon  nut-cakes;  but  they  lingered,  in  the  very  full- 
ness of  well-being.  The  graceful  ease  with  which  they 
fitted  into  the  frame  of  luxury  teased  Edgar  5nto  won- 


110  THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS 

dering  if  it  were  illusory,  this  goodness  and  content  born 
of  happiness.  One  might  well  try  it  on  the  world  at 
large,  he  thought. 

Diantha  gazed  without  a  focus  at  the  white  house  wall, 
carrying  a  patine  of  orange  and  gold  in  the  sunlight,  at 
the  spires  of  larkspur  in  all  shades  of  blue  and  violet 
clustering  along  its  foot,  at  the  warm  red-orange  flags, 
separated  with  lines  of  grass,  at  the  boys  in  their  flannels, 
with  sunburned  brilliant  faces  and  drowsy  eyes.  She  felt 
August's  slow,  deep  rhythm  stirring  across  the  valley. 
She  caught  her  breath  suddenly. 

"What  is  it?"  said  Eddie,  just  above  a  whisper. 

"It's  too  beautiful,"  she  whispered  back.  "One  wants 
it  to  last." 

"That's  heart-break,  isn't  it?  'Joy,  whose  hand  is  ever 
at  his  lips,  bidding  adieu.'  " 

"I  want  to  save  every  bit  of  it  to  remember  ...  in 
lean  years."  There  was  fierceness  in  her  low  voice. 

"My  dear,  there  are  no  lean  years — for  people  like 
you.  Beautiful  things  belong  to  you." 

"My  share  and  no  more." 

They  both  stared  toward  the  impenetrable  vault  of  the 
blue  east,  and  were  swayed  by  their  thoughts,  the  deep 
thoughts  of  seventeen,  deep  because  they  are  new. 

".  .  .  And  no  more,"  repeated  Di,  cold  with  the  feeling 
of  fatality. 

Eddie  looked  at  Sarah  and  Josie,  clean  and  pink  in 
their  muslins,  well-dowered,  and  impervious  to  beauty. 
His  Di  could  make  beauty  her  own,  though  she  might  pos- 
sess no  proper  shoes.  She  could  distill  it,  and  carry  it  in 
a  vial  between  her  slim  hands,  so  that  its  fragrance  should 
surround  her. 

He  fell  back  upon  his  favorite  rite,  of  watching  her  as 
she  lay  dreaming  in  the  sun,  with  the  beginning  of  a  smile 
touching  and  flitting  about  her  mouth.  Voices  murmured 
and  fell  silent;  a  laugh  would  punctuate  the  musical 
silence,  a  slow  movement.  It  was  Lotus  Land. 


VI 

ON  this  very  afternoon  the  spell  was  broken  over  the 
Enchanted  Hilltop,  as  Ames  Bicknell  had  called  it;  and 
never  again  did  they  recapture  the  idyllic  golden  ease, 
the  content  that  pervaded  this  summer  at  the  beginning 
of  life. 

"One  and  another  of  us  has  been  happy  since,"  said 
Mat,  writing  to  Diantha  from  Verdun,  "but  not  like  a 
merry-go-round  of  good  little  angels  who  entered  Paradise 
before  they  had  time  to  live  on  earth." 

.  .  .  "Long-distance  call  for  Mr.  Mat." 

Mat  lounged  to  the  telephone. 

"Hello!" 

"Chicago  calling  Mr.  Marriott  Powell — Hold  the  wire. 
There  you  are — ready  with  Egmont !" 

A  fine  thread  of  voice  came  through  the  receiver. 

"Is  that  you,  Mat?    It's  Mother." 

"Hello,  Mother.  How  are  you?  Is  everything  all 
right?" 

"I  want  you  and  Diantha  at  home,  dear.  I  wish  you'd 
plan  to  come  at  once." 

"Of  course  we  will.  What's  the  trouble?  Is  Herby 
sick?" 

"No,  it's  your  father.  Business  trouble.  I  don't  want 
to  talk  about  it  over  the  wire,  but  it's  a  difficulty  about 
the  Pernambuco  Oil  Company.  I'm  afraid  it  will  be  in 
the  papers  by  to-morrow." 

"We'll  take  the  morning  train  in,  and  be  there  for 
lunch.  Don't  worry  any  more  than  you  can  help,"  he 
added  with  awkward  kindness. 

"It  will  be  a  comfort  to  have  you  children  back.  Give 
111 


112  THE  MARRIOTT?  AND  THE  POWELLS 

Cousin  Edgar  my  love;  tell  him  I'm  sorry  you  can't  stay 
longer." 

Mat  turned  away  from  the  instrument,  and  kicked  the 
hall  wainscoting  reflectively.  His  father  could  not  have 
chosen  a  more  inappropriate  time  for  a  business  catas- 
trophe, an  event  not  unprecedented,  than  on  the  eve  of 
the  production  of  Mat's  first  play,  in  which  Diantha  was 
to  figure  as  leading  lady.  But  Mat  was  not  one  to  suffer 
unduly  over  pulling  himself  up  by  the  roots. 

"Di,"  he  called  to  her,  and  when  she  stood  in  the  door- 
way, framed  in  light,  "we've  got  to  go  back  to  town 
in  the  morning." 

"Father?"  she  breathed. 

He  nodded. 

She  sank  down  on  a  chair,  her  bubble  pricked,  her  whole 
being  suffused  with  an  exasperated,  inescapable,  grovel- 
ing shame. 

"It's  damned  outrageous,"  said  Mat,  explosively. 
"Why  can't  he " 

"Hush,  Mat."     She  glanced  toward  the  open  windows. 

"It'll  upset  the  whole  show." 

"Yes,"  she  answered  miserably  .  .  .  "We'd  better  tell 
Cousin  Edgar  right  away,  hadn't  we?" 

"Come  on  up  in  the  orchard,  Di.  I  want  to  talk  things 
over  first." 

Silently  they  climbed  the  hill  path,  and  sat  on  top  of 
the  wall,  where  the  smell  of  harvest  apples  hung  in  the 
sunshine. 

"I  wish  to  goodness  we  could  stay  till  Thursday  morn- 
ing instead  of  Wednesday,"  Mat  said,  tentatively. 

"It's  going  to  disappoint  everybody  .  .  ." 

"Of  course  they  can  postpone  the  play  .  .  ." 

"You  know  Ames  is  leaving,  and  Sarah  has  to  motor 
East  with  her  family  the  first  of  the  week." 

"And  there's  really  nobody  to  take  your  part." 

"Or  yours  either.    And  it's  your  very  own  play." 

"How  about  asking  Cousin  Edgar  what  he  thinks? 
Considering  how  much  depends  on  us  here,  we  might  be 


THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE.  POWELLS  113 

justified  in  calling  Mother  and  saying  we'd  be  down  day 
after  to-morrow." 

"I  don't  know  what  we'd  do  after  we  got  there." 

"There'll  be  business  conferences  .  .  .  There  always 
are  .  .  ." 

"It's  company  Mother  wants  more  than  anything." 

Over  and  over  they  threshed  their  situation ;  and  clearer 
and  clearer  grew  their  realization  of  the  catastrophe 
they  were  bringing  on  the  heads  of  the  Redgate  Players. 

"I  tell  you,  Di,"  Mat  proposed  finally.  "This  is  a 
matter  for  us  to  settle  and  not  anybody  else.  I  don't  see 
why  we  should  ask  Cousin  Edgar's  advice,  it  will  only 
worry  him.  Let's  just  plan  to  go  down  Thursday,  and 
call  up  Mother  ourselves  to  tell  her  why.  She  wouldn't 
want  us  to  go  down  and  spoil  everything." 

So  at  length  it  was  determined. 

"You  call  Mother,  will  you?" 

"Oh,  Mat,  you'd  better  .  .  ." 

"Well  .  .  ." 

The  telephone  connection  was  unconscionably  slow,  and 
Edgar,  sitting  in  his  darkening  study,  was  almost  driven 
mad  by  the  scuffling  of  Mat's  feet  on  the  hall  rugs. 

"Hello  .  .  .  Hello  ...  Oh,  Mother  .  .  ." 

"What's  the  matter  with  the  boy?"  thought  Edgar. 
"His  voice  is  so  constrained." 

"How's  everything?  ...  I  wanted  to  ask  if  it  would 
make  any  difference  in  your  plans  if  we — if  Di  and  I — 
you  see  we're  getting  up  a  play  for  to-morrow  night — a 
big  thing — lots  of  people  coming — and  Di's  the  heroine — 
and  I'm  in  it  too  .  .  .  And  it  would  upset  everybody's 
plans  completely  if  we  left  to-morrow — and  we  thought — 
and  Cousin  Edgar  thought — we  wondered  how  important 
it  was  for  us  to  get  back  to-morrow." 

In  the  ensuing  pause,  Edgar's  eyebrows  drew  down  to 
their  satanic  angle.  Here  were  strange  doings,  with 
something  not  quite  sweet  about  them. 

"All  right  then :  you're  a  brick,  Mother.    We'll  be  down 


114  THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS 

for  lunch  Thursday.  Is  there  anything  we  can  do  in  the 
meanwhile?  Right-o.  Good-by." 

And  Mat  walked  away,  whistling  in  the  excess  of  light- 
heartedness. 

After  dinner,  and  immediately  preceding  the  dress  re- 
hearsal, Edgar  was  favored  with  an  interview  by  the  two 
of  his  young  cousins.  Di  was  rouged,  and  dressed  to  all 
appearance  in  pink  sugar-candy ;  but  she  looked  none  the 
less  juvenile  and  sheepish.  Mat  was  representing  an 
elderly  man  of  the  world ;  and  it  had  seemed  good  to  him 
to  assume  a  red  ribbon  across  the  shirt-front,  a  monocle, 
and  some  whiskers. 

'Cousin  Edgar,"  he  said ;  and  kicked  a  footstool. 

'Yes." 

'We  have  to  go  down  Thursday." 

'Oh." 

'Father's  got  into  some  sort  of  business  pucker- 
snatch  again,  and  Mother  wants  us  home." 

"Too  bad !"  said  Edgar  sharply,  angry  at  the  unvary- 
ing routine  of  Vesey  Powell's  obliquity.  "Well!  is  there 
anything  I  can  do?" 

"I  don't  really  know.  Mother  said  to  tell  you ;  she  said 
it  would  be  in  the  papers,  but  she  didn't  want  to  talk 
about  it  over  the  telephone." 

"So  you're  going  down  Thursday. — Well !  we  shall  miss 
you." 

"Mother  wanted  us  to  stay  up  here  for  the  play." 

"Oh,  did  she?  It  was  nice' of  her  to  think  of  that  .  .  . 
worried  as  she  must  be  .  .  ." 

Both  tne  Powells  blushed  furiously,  and  hated  them- 
selves for  blushing. 

"You  can  tell  Maxwell  to  take  your  trunks  down  to- 
morrow night,  and  drive  you  over  Thursday  to  the  early 
train.  It's  too  bad  .  .  .  too  bad  you  have  to  go."  With- 
in his  breast  Edgar  was  thinking,  "Perhaps  it's  time  you 
went  after  all.  Olympus  isn't  good  training  for  Chicago." 


vn 

THE  dress  rehearsal  was  uncannily  smooth.  "I  wish 
something  had  gone  wrong,"  said  Ames,  fidgeting,  mindful 
of  the  stage  tradition.  But  the  others  crowed  over  their 
subsequent  ginger-ale,  and  toasted  each  other's  futures  on 
the  boards. 

"It's  really  an  excellent  little  comedy,"  said  Edgar, 
kindly  to  Ames,  whom  he  recognized  as  the  leading  spirit 
among  the  authors  and  producers.  Ames  was  enchanted, 
for  he  had  felt  that  his  host  did  not  often  appreciate  him 
at  his  own  valuation. 

Diantha's  head  was  in  a  whirl.  She  was  a  success. 
Also  the  combination  of  her  costume  on  her,  and  Fan's 
on  him,  had  so  upset  that  young  worldling's  poise  that  he 
had  most  markedly  flirted  with  her  all  the  evening,  and 
had  actually  and  unexpectedly,  and  of  his  own  volition, 
kissed  her  in  a  moment  of  satisfactory  privacy  in  the 
wings.  She  had  with  proper  spirit  scratched  his  face,  but 
that  did  not  prevent  her  from  feeling  that  the  tide  of 
adventure  was  running  high  and  strong.  "Like  the  ball 
before  Waterloo,"  she  thought.  Before  she  went  upstairs 
Fan  pulled  her  out  on  the  terrace  and  kissed  her  again, 
and  dared  her  to  scratch  his  face,  which  pleasure  she 
forfeited  in  favor  of  a  kinder  salute. 

When  they  reappeared  in  public  they  thought  they  ap- 
peared thoroughly  at  ease ;  but  Eddie,  who  sat  sourly  with 
his  hands  jammed  into  his  pockets,  heard  the  hysterical 
note  in  her  laugh,  and  knew  at  once  what  had  happened. 
A  wave  of  deathly  faintness  swept  downward  like  a  black 
curtain  across  his  brain,  and  halted  the  beating  of  his 
heart. 

115 


116  THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS 

"Coining  up,  Eddie?"  said  Mat,  with  his  hand  on  the 
light-switch.  "We're  the  last " 

"I'll  put  it  out,"  said  Eddie.     And  he  sat  motionless. 

Diantha  passed  a  night  troubled  with  dreams  and  wak- 
ings, nervous  crises,  rapture  and  tears.  When  she  slept 
she  would  wake  with  her  mother's  voice  in  her  ears,  and 
lie  terrified  by  a  sense  of  betrayal  and  sorrow.  But  when- 
ever she  remembered  Fanning,  she  was  off  on  a  wave  of 
joy.  No  one  had  ever  kissed  her  before,  and  she  had  been 
in  love  with  Fanning  for  years,  in  the  odd  and  romantic 
manner  in  which  little  girls  do  fall  in  love.  She  felt 
herself  suddenly  a  woman,  full  of  deep,  new  thoughts ;  and 
she  had  no  standard  for  judging  how  completely  she  was 
still  a  child. 

But  clouding  her  joy  were  two  shames,  lowering,  form- 
less, sombre  presences, — shame  for  her  father,  and  shame 
for  herself,  that  she  had  not  yet  gone  home  .  .  . 

She  and  Mat  had  agreed  not  to  say  anything  about 
their  departure  till  after  the  play,  and  she  meant  to  slip 
away  without  saying  good-by  to  Fanning,  because  she 
could  not  imagine  supporting  the  tragedy  of  such  a  scene. 

"No  rehearsals !"  said  Ames  at  breakfast.  "Go  off  and 
fill  your  lungs  with  fresh  air."  And  with  the  word  the 
Redgate  Players  scattered  toward  the  tennis-courts  and 
the  river,  while  the  leading  lady  retired  to  the  window- 
seat  of  Cousin  Edgar's  study,  overlooking  the  orchard, 
and  buried  herself  in  cushions.  Edgar,  after  several 
wasted  openings,  realized  that  she  wished  to  be  let  alone, 
and  withdrew  behind  day-bef ore-yesterday's  "New  York 
Times."  Fan  came  scouting  through  the  trees  outside, 
and  beckoned  with  one  finger;  she  shook  her  head.  He 
walked  over  to  tap  on  the  glass  with  his  finger,  but  she 
turned  herself  among  the  cushions,  and  refused  to  be 
lured  outside. 

"Oh,  very  well,"  said  Fan,  tossing  his  head  and  walk- 
ing away. 

There   was   nothing   particularly   subtle   about  Fan's 


THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE   POWELLS  11? 

mood:  he  was  suddenly  and  obviously  in  love, — suddenly, 
obviously  and  perhaps  cursorily;  and  now  he  was  in  a 
state  of  pique. 

Edgar,  watching  her  unnoticed,  could  not  doubt  that 
she  had  become  a  different  girl  overnight,  and  he  was  still 
young  enough  to  be  hurt  at  her  uncommunicativeness. 
Not  one  of  her  expressions  could  be  interpreted  by  past 
analogy.  There  were  moments  when,  as  she  lay  day- 
dreaming, her  smile  had  the  sly,  mysterious  ecstasy  of  a 
Luini  Madonna ;  she  flushed  and  paled,  shut  her  lips  firmly, 
and  let  them  part  again  in  cherubic  rapture.  For  five 
minutes  she  looked  at  her  own  hands,  speculatively,  atten- 
tively, as  if  they  were  strange  to  her  .  .  .  Edgar  could 
explain  this,  shrewdly  enough,  on  the  supposition  that 
Fanning  had  last  night  kissed  her  for  the  first  time. 

But  he  had  not  the  complete  key  to  those  other  mo- 
ments when  her  face  froze  into  ugliness,  when  something 
stubborn,  discreet  and  inhuman  locked  its  curves  to  hard- 
ness. She  looked  narrowly  out  of  the  corners  of  her  eyes, 
eyes  usually  as  frank  as  those  of  an  ingenuous  young  rab- 
bit. She  was  feeling  that  she  had  no  right  to  stay  en- 
joying herself  at  Redgate  while  her  mother  needed  her, — 
yet  without  weakening  in  her  determination  to  stay,  come 
what  might. 

Fan  was  seen  no  more  until  tea-time,  when  he  re- 
appeared in  the  green  runabout  with  Sarah  under  his  arm, 
and  looked  to  see  whether  he  had  managed  to  vex  his  love. 

She  returned  his  look,  baffled  and  white;  and  he,  being 
nineteen  and  forthright,  was  incapable  of  understanding 
the  intensity  of  her  spiritual  warfare,  and  concluded  she 
meant  to  snub  him. 

"Very  well!"  said  he  in  anger.  "I'll  kiss  Sarah  this 
evening."  Intuition  told  him  that  the  feat  would  not  be 
impossible,  despite  Ames'  priority. 

"A  big  tea,"  said  Ames,  "and  then  no  more  till  supper 
after  the  play.  You  must  put  in  the  next  spell  getting 
beautiful." 


118  THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS 

All  very  well  to  talk  about  a  heavy  tea,  but  when  one's 
teeth  rattle  against  one's  cup,  and  one's  throat  refuses 
to  swallow,  it  is  far  simpler  to  go  without  sustenance  .  .  . 

"Buck  up,  Di,"  said  Mat  in  her  ear.  "Everything's 
right  enough,  don't  you  worry." 

"Who's  scared?"  shouted  Sarah. 

A  chorus  of  gibes  answered  her.  Under  cover  of  the 
noise,  Diantha  recovered  her  composure.  "I  must  see  Fan 
alone  once  before  I  go,"  she  thought.  "Perhaps  I'll  say 
good-by  to  him  after  all."  And  with  this  in  mind  she 
looked  toward  him. 

He  felt  her  eyes  at  once,  and  rejoicing,  doubled  his 
outcries,  and  directed  them  more  particularly  toward  the 
healthy  and  boisterous  Sarah.  Not  once  would  he  meet 
Diantha's  appealing  glance,  though  his  spirit  swam  ex- 
ultingly  in  it. 

While  Fan  was  "climbing  into  his  monocle" — to  quote 
Ames — he  was  planning  in  detail  how,  just  before  the 
curtain  went  up  on  the  second  act,  and  while  Diantha  was 
standing  in  the  opposite  wings,  she  was  to  be  favored 
with  an  unequivocal  view  of  the  caress  he  was  to  bestow 
on  Sarah.  To  his  sophomoric  mind  this  represented  the 
height  of  strategy;  it  would  lead  to  a  delightful  atmos- 
phere of  tension  during  the  play,  especially  during  the 
now  famous  "final  curtain,"  to  a  scene  during  supper, 
and  a  complete  and  satisfactory  reconciliation  on  the  ter- 
race afterwards. 

But  Diantha,  as  she  laced  and  powdered  and  adjusted 
the  fetching  black  patch  on  one  cheek,  was  whispering 
stupidly,  "I  must  see  Fan — I  must  see  Fan — I'll  die  if  I 
don't  see  Fan " 


vm 

THE  neighbors  for  miles  around  had  driven  up  and  set- 
tled themselves  in  the  rows  of  chairs  provided.  Those  of 
them  who  had  not  been  at  Redgate  since  its  transfigura- 
tion were  full  of  amazement  and  good-humored  ridicule 
for  Eddie's  decorative  flights,  which  had  been  the  theme 
of  small-talk  up  and  down  the  valley  all  summer. 

And  eventually  the  curtain  went  up  on  the  first  act. 
If  the  performance  was  not  as  sparkling  as  the  dress 
rehearsal,  at  least  nobody  forgot  his  lines,  and  the  audi- 
ence laughed  genially  at  all  the  jokes.  Ames  danced  like 
a  hen  on  a  hot  griddle  behind  the  scenes,  exhorting  his 
troupe. 

"More  pep,  Di!"  he  plead.  "Sail  into  it  like  you  did 
last  night." 

She  gave  him  a  wan  smile,  and  earnestly  strove  to  have 
"more  pep."  But  the  "pep"  was  not  within  her. 

Fan  conducted  his  lightning  campaign  of  preparation 
according  to  schedule,  and  staged  the  final  coup  exactly 
as  he  had  planned,  in  the  left-hand  wings.  Sarah's  re- 
sultant giggle  was  plainly  audible  to  the  back  of  the  house. 

"  'Oh,  here  you  are,  Calista;  what  news?'  "  said  Josie's 
voice. 

("Go  on,  Di !    There's  your  cue!") 

Diantha  obediently  walked  upon  the  stage,  and  stood 
wavering  and  blank.  A  silence  fell.  Josie  repeated  the 
cue: 

"  *Oh,  here  you  are,  Calista ;  what  news?'  " 

Di  smiled  propitiatingly  at  the  audience,  knowing  that 
however  long  she  waited,  she  would  never  remember  her 
line,  but  deprived  of  the  power  to  flee  from  the  boards. 
119 


120  THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS 

"  'I've  had  the  worst  luck  in  the  world !'  "  hissed  Ames, 
prompting  her. 

"  'The  worst — '  "  said  Diantha.  "  'The  worst — 
luck —  "  and  with  this  she  burst  into  a  high,  long,  ring- 
ing laugh. 

"Curtain!  Curtain!"  shouted  Ames,  in  frenzy.  "For 
the  love  of  Mike,  ring  down  that  curtain!  She's  in  hys- 
terics." 

Some  forty-three  minutes  later  the  curtain  rose  again, 
with  Josie  squeezed  into  Di's  pink  taffeta,  and  with  the 
comic  part  of  Aunt  Jerusha  crudely  and  forever  sup- 
pressed. What  intermediate  urgencies  had  been  under- 
gone, what  throes,  what  rising  to  events,  must  be  left  to 
the  instructed  imagination  of  those  who  have  taken  part 
in  amateur  theatricals.  Tolerantly  and  even  with  grati- 
fication the  audience  had  enjoyed  the  fracas  and  the  long 
subsequent  lull,  which  were  part  of  what,  remembering 
their  youth,  they  had  bargained  for. 

Meanwhile,  in  Di's  darkened  room,  Edgar  sat  by  the 
head  of  the  bed  while  she  went  through  a  waning  series 
of  dry,  convulsive  sobs,  the  last  of  the  storm.  At  first  he 
had  tried  all  the  old  wives'  remedies,  from  harsh  words 
to  spirits  of  ammonia,  but  long  since  he  had  seen  that  the 
crisis  must  be  worn  through. 

At  last  she  grew  completely  quiet;  only  with  difficulty 
he  kept  himself  from  stroking  her  hair,  knowing  that 
sympathy  would  upset  her  control. 

"I  must  go  home,"  she  said,  in  a  small,  whispering  voice. 

"Yes,  dear.  As  soon  as  you  like.  I  expect  you've 
missed  your  mother  after  all." 

That  brought  one  more  nervous  shudder,  but  she  mas- 
tered it. 

"I — have  missed  her.  But  she's  missed  me  too  .  .  . 
I  ought  to  have  gone  yesterday." 

"Oh." 

"She  asked  me  to  ...  and  I  didn't  .  .  ." 


THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS  121 

"You  mean  she  specially  wanted  you  at  home?" 

"She  asked  us  to  come  right  away.  But  Mat  and  I 
told  her  we'd  go  down  to-morrow,  you  know." 

"I'm  sorry  to  hear  that." 

"I  knew  you'd  be  disappointed.  We — you  see  we 
thought  it  would  break  up  the  play  if  we  went." 

Edgar  was  silent. 

"And  so  it  did,  anyway!"  she  cried  softly,  as  if  in  a 
breath  she  had  learned  wisdom. 

"You  dear  little  chick,"  said  Edgar,  tempted  to  laugh. 
"It  certainly  did  break  it  up;  but  it's  going  on  again. 
Did  it  occur  to  you  we  might  have  postponed  the  play  a 
few  days?  ...  I  shouldn't  wonder  a  bit  if  we'd  repeat 
it  again,  later  in  the  summer,  when  you're  back  here  and 
your  mind  is  at  rest,  so  that  you  can  take  your  own 
part  all  the  way  through." 

"Oh,  no,  no !    I  can't  come  back." 

"Why,  of  course  you  can  come  back,  Di.  Bring  your 
mother  along,  for  a  good  rest." 

"No,  no,  no !  I'm  never  coming  back,"  and  she  began 
to  cry,  with  a  tired  despair  which  touched  him  deeply. 

"Di,  is  there  something  else  the  matter?" 

"No,"  and  she  buried  her  face. 

He  waited  a  little.  "Di,"  he  said,  "you  had  better  tell 
me  the  rest.  .  .  .  Are  you  in  love?" 

"No !"  she  said  fiercely :  then  in  a  weak  voice,  "I  was" 

"And  you  quarreled?" 

"Oh,  no." 

"You  won't  be  able  to  go  to  sleep  till  you  tell  me;  was 
it  Fanning?" 

She  nodded,  overcome  by  his  astuteness. 

"Well,  what's  the  matter?" 

"I —  ...  I  have  always  loved  him,"  said  Diantha, 
more  bravely.  "And  last  night  he — I  thought  everything 
was  so  wonderful  .  .  ." 

"And  to-night?" 


122  THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS 

"To-night  I  saw  him  kissing  Sarah !" 

"The  young  scamp!'*  muttered  Edgar.  "The  young 
vulgarian !  The  ineffable  ass  !  I'd  like  to  lick  him !" 

"Don't,"  said  Di,  sadly.  "I  suppose  he  just  is  like 
that.  .  .  .  He  can  be  perfectly — perfectly  darling  when 
he  tries  .  .  » 

The  play  was  over,  as  testified  several  volleys  of  ap- 
plause, and  a  sound  of  general  moving  about.  Josie  and 
Sarah  came  pattering  down  the  hall,  to  inquire  for  the 
invalid. 

"S-sh!"  said  Edgar,  at  the  door,  "she's  almost  asleep. 
Run  down,  I'll  join  you  a  little  later." 

The  maid  came  in,  with  hot-water  bottles  and  a  cup  of 
tea.  Mat  knocked  and  was  refused. 

Then  came  a  quick  rat-tat  on  the  panels.  Diantha 
dived  farther  among  the  pillows. 

"Get  out!"  said  Cousin  Edgar,  in  his  most  strident 
voice. 

"It's  me,"  said  Fan's  fresh  tones.  "I've  got  to  see 
Diantha  just  a  minute." 

"You  can't  see  her." 

There  was  a  short  silence,  after  which  the  door-knob 
was  quietly  turned. 

With  three  strides  Edgar  crossed  the  floor,  and  shut 
both  himself  and  the  offender  into  the  hall. 

"You  must  let  me  see  her,"  said  Fan,  earnestly.  "I 
know  what's  the  matter  with  her." 

"So  do  I,  and  I  don't  want  her  to  have  anything  more 
to  do  with  you.  Get  away  from  this  door  and  don't  tor- 
ment her  any  more;  she's  had  about  enough  for  one 
evening." 

"I  want  to  explain  .  .  ." 

Edgar  found  pleasant  the  venting  of  his  wrath  in 
speech,  and  proposed  to  continue  indefinitely. 

"You  shall  not  come  around  here,  crushing  little  wild- 
roses  in  your  great  fists  .  .  .  On  my  soul,  I  can't  under- 
stand your  lack  of  discrimination.  .  .  .  Perhaps  you'll 


THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS  123 

grow  up  to  be  a  gentleman,  but  just  now  you're  a  most 
unfortunate  little  bounder !" 

Fan  flung  away  in  a  rage,  his  uncle's  rhetoric  rankling 
within  him.  As  soon  as  he  had  gone,  Edgar  felt  the  fire 
of  his  anger  die  down,  and  turned  back  into  Di's  room 
feeling  desperately  sad  and  desperately  tired,  and  quite 
incapable  of  sustaining  the  role  of  foster-parent  to  his 
wild  brood. 


IX 

"My  darling,  darling  mother!"  Diantha  cried,  hurling 
herself  forward. 

Amy  was  not  demonstrative,  having  learned  to  distrust 
the  more  facile  emotions ;  she  quietly  accepted  her  daugh- 
ter's embrace,  and  then  took  up  her  suitcase. 

"Why  didn't  we  come  sooner?"  continued  Diantha  in 
an  ecstasy  of  abasement. 

"I  thought  you  and  Mat  ought  to  know  about  it,  and 
face  the  situation;  but  it  didn't  make  much  difference 
whether  you  came  down  yesterday  or  to-day,  or  even  to- 
morrow. It  takes  old  heads  to  settle  these  affairs.  I've 
been  trying  to  reach  Tolman  by  wire,  and  I've  written 
pretty  fully  to  Edgar." 

"Well,  what  is  the  situation  exactly,  mother?"  Mat 
asked.  "The  papers  had  nothing." 

They  stood  in  the  little  living-room,  which  had  in  the 
course  of  years,  and  with  the  assistance  of  Christmas 
checks,  assumed  a  more  sympathetic  aspect,  and  in  which 
the  inevitable  soot-darkened  ceiling  of  Chicago  was  pal- 
liated by  awnings  and  a  flowering  window-box.  It  was 
home  to  Mat  and  Diantha,  so  consecrated  by  years  of 
youthful  memory ;  but  after  the  space,  the  air,  and  the 
color  of  Redgate  it  fell  ingloriously  upon  their  view. 
The  old  mahogany  and  the  portraits  had  an  overgrown 
aspect,  and  the  carpet  was  forever  permeated  with  a 
stuffy  grime. 

"Well,"  Amy  sat  down  beside  the  darning-basket,  and 

composed  herself  to  work,  "I  don't  want  you  children  to 

talk  about  this   outside,  because  you  don't  understand 

business,  and  you  might  so  easily  say  the  wrong  thing. 

124 


THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS  125 

I'm  not  at  all  sure  I  see  through  it.  Your  father  is  usu- 
ally optimistic :  but  the  other  night  he  came  home  nervous 
and  restless,  got  out  his  violin — and  you  know  that's 
always  a  bad  sign — swore  at  the  cat,  talked  at  random 
and  rather  bitterly : — at  all  events,  I  was  worried. 

"Finally  he  said  he  had  to  take  a  walk  before  he  could 
get  to  sleep,  and  I  said,  'Vesey,  have  you  had  any  bad 
news?'  'Oh,  you'll  hear  soon  enough!'  he  said.  'To- 
morrow can  look  out  for  itself.'  I  was  quite  roused:  I 
said,  'Vesey  Powell,  you  shall  not  leave  this  house  till  you 
tell  me  what  the  trouble  is.'  I  stood  with  my  back  to  the 
sitting-room  door;  the  windows  were  open;  I'm  afraid 
the  neighbors  heard  us. 

"Poor  Vesey  sat  down  on  that  stool,  there.  I  had 
really  never  seen  him  so  upset;  his  courage  has  always 
been — surprising  to  me.  "The  game's  up,  Amy,'  he  kept 
saying.  'It  broke  the  wrong  way.'  I  don't  understand 
very  well,  you  know,  and  he  hated  to  tell  me;  but  it  seems 
he's  been  working  for  the  Pernambuco  Oil  Company,  sell- 
ing their  stock.  A  Mr.  Belmarsh  is  the  Chicago  repre- 
sentative, and  he  was  offering  your  father  a  very  liberal 
commission ;  that  was  why  we'd  done  so  well  all  summer. 
Then  Mr.  Belmarsh  began  withholding  your  father's  sal- 
ary and  commission,  and  he  suspected  there  was  some- 
thing not  right  about  the  company,  and  that  it  would  not 
come  to  anything,  and  that  he  had  better  break  away, 
perhaps.  But  considering  it.  was  so  speculative,  he 
thought  he  might  be  able  to  help  the  company  out  by — 
by  connecting  them  with  something  more  stable.  Now  I 
think  this  is  how  it  was.  He  got  the  people  who  were 
buying  stock  to  make  their  checks  out  to  him, — I  often 
think  people  who  have  money  to  invest  should  take  their 
responsibilities  seriously, — and  then  he  took  this  money 
and  bought  copper  on  a  margin.  Do  you  know  what  that 
means,  Mat?  I  can't  see  through  it,  I'm  just  quoting." 

"Yes,  that  makes  sense,"  Mat  growled. 

"He  said  he  had  a  perfectly  sure  tip,  and  that  it  was 


126  THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS 

going  to  bring  in  a  large  surplus  for  the  company.  But 
somehow  it  didn't.  Some  dishonest  person  gave  him  wrong 
information.  The  margin  disappeared.  It  does  seem  so 
odd  to  me  that  real  money  can  simply  vanish.  When  you 
buy  food  and  clothes,  at  least  you  get  something  back  .  .  . 
So  you  see  there  was  no  money  left  to  return  to  the  Oil 
Company  for  the  sale  of  stock." 

"When  did  they  find  it  out?" 

"The  day  I  telephoned  you, — the  day  Vesey  told  me 
all  this.  Your  father  and  Mr.  Belmarsh  had  had  a  ter- 
rible scene,  and  Mr.  Belmarsh  had  threatened  to  send 
your  father  to  jail.  But  he  says  Mr.  Belmarsh  won't  do 
that,  because  there  is  something  so  queer  about  the  Per- 
nambuco  Oil  Company  that  he  won't  want  to  draw  atten- 
tion to  it  at  present.  I — I  hate  having  dealings  with 
these  people." 

"Have  you  seen  Belmarsh?" 

"I  went  down  there  yesterday,  and  really  he  was  not  as 
bad  as  I  feared." 

"Poor  little  mother !"  murmured  Diantha. 

"He  is  not  a  refined  man,  really  quite  the  contrary, 
and  his  language  is  coarse ;  but  he  seemed  sorry  for  Vesey 
and  me,  and  wanted  to  help  us.  I — I  think  he  knows  I 
am  related  to  Tolman  Marriott,  and  hopes  I  can  interest 
him  in  adjusting  affairs;  and  of  course  if  the  Pernambuco 
Oil  Company  gets  any  sort  of  backing  from  Tolman,  it 
will  help  them  a  great  deal." 

"Surely,"  cried  Mat,  springing  up,  "you  haven't  asked 
Cousin  Tolman  to  make  up  that  deficit !" 

"No,  but  I  have  sent  him  word  that  I  am  in  great 
trouble  and  need  to  see  him." 

"Oh,  I  can't  bear  this !     I— I've  got  to  clear  out !" 

"I  suppose,"  murmured  Diantha  with  flashing  eyes, 
"it's  a  lot  harder  on  your  sensitive  nature  than  it  is  on 
Mother." 

Kicking  a  footstool,  as  was  his  destructive  habit  in 


THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS  127 

moments  of  stress,  he  subsided,  merely  asking,  "Have  you 
heard  from  him?" 

"They  haven't  succeeded  in  reaching  him  yet.  He's 
gone  to  some  camp  in  the  White  Mountains.  I've  asked 
Edgar  to  wire." 

"What  is  Father  doing  all  this  time?" 

"Oh,  he  has  to  see  a  great  many  men  on  business. 
He's  trying  to  borrow  money.  I  told  him  he  could  sell 
all  the  furniture,  but  he  said  that  wouldn't  be  a  drop 
in  the  bucket.  I  really  believe  Tolman  is  his  only  hope. 
He  is  more  downcast  than  I  ever  saw  him.  He  was  so — • 
so  sincere  in  believing  he  was  doing  the  best  thing!  But 
now  he  has  come  to  realize  that  he  has  no  right  to  specu- 
late with  money  that  he  is  not  entitled  to :  and  I  am  sure 
this  is  the  turning-point  in  his  life.  If  he  can  get  on 
his  feet  again  he  will  be  quite  contented  to  take  a  clerical 
position  that  will  bring  in  a  small,  steady  income,  and  stop 
promoting  new  enterprises ;  and  we  shall  all  be  much  hap- 
pier. I  have  thought  perhaps  you  children  might  better 
leave  school  and  go  to  work, — not  but  what  I  want  you  to 
have  good  educations,  but  after  all  the  most  important 
thing  is  to  be  able  to  pay  our  bills  and  hold  up  our  heads 
among  our  neighbors." 

In  silence  Mat  and  Diantha  envisaged  this  changed 
prospect,  which  was  rational  enough. 

"But  of  course  the  first  thing  is  to  get  straightened 
out,"  Amy  went  on. 

"How  about  Cousin  Edgar?     Could  he  help?" 

"No!"  Diantha  almost  shouted.  "We  take  everything 
from  him  as  it  is.  You  must  not  ask  him.  Cousin  Tol- 
man's  much  better  able  to  help  out  than  Cousin  Edgar." 

Amy  smiled.  "You  hate  to  take  advantage  of  Edgar 
because  you're  a  pet  of  his,  just  as  I  hate  to  ask  Tolman 
because  he's  been  specially  nice  to  me.  But  it's  true 
Tolman  has  much  more  command  of  money  than  Edgar; 
Edgar's  an  invalid  and  lives  on  a  fixed  income,  and  he's 


128  THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS 

put  great  sums  into  that  place  this  summer;  whereas 
Tolman's  an  active  financier.  Vesey  told  me  the  other  day 
he  wouldn't  be  surprised  if  Tolman  doubled  his  capital 
every  four  or  five  years,  and  in  a  perfectly  sound  way." 
Here  Amy  sighed,  as  if  wishing  that  the  faculty  for 
legitimate  finance  had  been  scattered  more  widely  through- 
out human  nature. 

"How  much  is  Father  in  the  hole?" 
"About  eight  thousand  five  hundred  dollars." 
"Oh  dear!"  cried  Diantha,  to  whom  this  sounded  vast. 
"Well,  I'm  glad  you're  home.     It's  a  great  comfort  to 
have  our  big  children  to  stand  by  us." 
"Where's  Herby,  by  the  way?" 

"Poor  little  Herby !  He's  been  working  so  hard,  and 
nobody  has  thought  to  invite  him  out  to  the  country. 
You  know  he  had  a  job  at  a  tire-filling  station,  and  he's 
been  putting  five  dollars  a  week  in  his  savings-account. 
Finally  your  father  and  I  sent  him  to  one  of  those  boys' 
camps  for  two  weeks — it  seemed  a  shame  for  him  to  miss 
his  vacation.  I'm  relieved  that  he  isn't  here;  he's  too 
young  to  see  the  right  and  wrong  of  this  business,  ano! 
the  less  he  knows  about  it  the  better  I  shall  be  pleased. 
Of  course  if — if — your  father  should  be  arrested,  and 
sent — sent  to  prison,  he  would  have  to  be  told — "  At 
the  shame  of  this  thought  Amy's  face  turned  fairly  ashen 
and  the  flesh  clung  drooping  to  the  bones.  She  had  fine 
eyes,  deep  gray,  tragically  set  in  the  hollow  of  the  socket, 
and  darkened  about  the  lids. 

Days  of  tedious  suspense  followed,  during  which  Mat 
prowled  catlike  and  irritable  in  and  out  of  the  stifling 
little  house,  while  his  mother  and  sister  steadied  their 
nerves  by  preserving  two  bushels  of  peaches  and  putting 
up  fourteen  jars  of  green  cucumber  pickles. 

It  was  characteristic  of  Amy  that,  facing  as  she  was 
the  simultaneous  loss  of  breadwinner  and  roof-tree,  she 


THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS  129 

must  still  look  forward  to  the  contingencies  of  the  winter 
lunch-table,  and  envisage  the  minor  catastrophe  of  going 
without  preserves,  or  of  buying  an  inferior  article  at  a 
high  price.  Her  grandmothers  from  the  dawn  of  history 
had  put  up  preserves  and  stored  them  in  their  butteries ; 
and  Amy  would  have  asked  no  happier  lot  than  to  preside 
over  the  ordering  of  a  square-cornered,  conservative  New 
England  house. 

After  a  certain  amount  of  penitential  tramping  up  and 
down  La  Salle  Street,  Vesey  succumbed  to  a  nervous  head- 
ache, and  darkening  his  room  retired  temporarily  from 
the  world,  and  was  galvanized  into  life  only  by  the  sound 
of  the  door-bell,  following  which  his  head  would  appear 
over  the  banisters,  and  his  rueful,  mocking  whisper  would 
be  projected  downward: 

"Pst!    Was  that  a  telegram  or  a  policeman?" 

Edgar  talked  repeatedly  over  the  telephone  to  Vesey 
and  to  his  wife,  and  wired  to  remote  spots  where  Tolman 
was  supposed  to  be.  Tolman's  reply  was  awaited  as 
though  it  had  been  a  revelation  from  on  high;  yet  when 
it  came  it  could  not  have  been  less  satisfactory.  The 
blunt  message  which  Edgar  received  was  couched  in  these 
terms : — 

"Term  m  jail  clearly  indicated,  the  sooner  administered 
the  more  salutary.  Witt  back  family  meanwhile. 

"Tolman" 

To  translate  this  into  polite  terms  drew  upon  Edgar's 
political  training,  but  however  he  might  verbally  spare 
Amy's  feelings,  the  crude  fact  remained,  that  Vesey  was 
to  be  abandoned  to  his  own  misconduct. 

"Have  you  Tolman's  address  now?"  she  asked  over  the 
telephone. 

He  gave  it  to  her. 

"I  want  to  wire  him  once  more."  And  she  sat  down  to 
compose  a  prayer  for  grace,  at  so  much  a  word. 


130  THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE,  POWELLS 

"//  he  passes  this  crisis  he  will  deal  honestly  in  future. 
If  abandoned  will  go  down  hill  permanently.  Greatest 
favor  I  can  ever  ask  is  to  save  my  home  for  me  now. 

"Amy." 

She  had  no  comfort  to  give  Vesey  after  hearing  the 
message  from  Tolman,  but  in  the  moment  when  she  stood 
outside  his  door,  she  felt  some  unsuspected  store  of  cour- 
age flooding  through  her  body.  He  should  not  be  left  to 
admit  failure  .  .  .  dishonor  .  .  . 

With  her  hand  on  the  knob,  she  remained  praying  to 
her  God,  who  stood  suddenly  near  to  her,  stronger  than 
all  calamity. 

Then  she  went  in  to  her  husband.  The  room  was  stifling, 
and  he  had  flung  himself  across  the  bed.  Upon  her  en- 
trance he  looked  up,  thinking  she  had  good  news :  but 
she  shook  her  head  as  she  sat  down  beside  him.  He  reached 
for  her  hands  and  clung  to  them,  and  before  long  he  began 
a  confession  of  so  much  of  his  dealings  as  could  filter 
through  his  tortuous  brain.  His  only  relief  was  in  fling- 
ing himself  upon  her  mercy. 

She  was  amazed  at  her  own  repose,  while  he  abased  him- 
self thus  before  her;  and  as  she  looked  down  at  his 
prostrate  limbs  and  the  well-known  head,  its  face  averted, 
there  came  to  her  such  a  feeling  as  she  had  never  experi- 
enced with  regard  to  him, — a  stirring  of  pity  and  tender- 
ness which  he  had  not  commanded  even  during  her  early 
infatuation  for  him.  It  was  mother-love,  minor-keyed, 
yearning ;  and  with  it  she  took  him  for  the  first  time  into 
the  circle  of  her  children,  whom  it  was  her  glory  to  up- 
build, to  defend  and  to  inspire.  And  she  even  found  time 
to  blame  herself  for  the  years  during  which  she  had 
deprived  him  of  this  love,  through  which  he  might  have 
grown  into  a  strong  man. 

No  words  were  given  to  the  real  meaning  of  this  collo- 
quy, in  which  she,  timorous,  guaranteed  him  strength,  and 
he,  unstable,  promised  her  a  fuller  loyalty ;  but  she  emerged 
with  the  grand  step  of  a  sibyl. 


THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS  131 

Upon  Amy's  entrance,  Diantha  stood  prepared  to  con- 
dole and  to  rebel  against  circumstances :  but  her  mother's 
serene  motion  and  the  exaltation  of  her  face  put  the  girl 
to  silence.  Amy  pushed  back  Diantha's  hair  and  left  her 
fingers  lying  for  an  instant  on  her  forehead. 

"If  we  all  stand  together,"  she  said  slowly,  "and  help 
each  other,  we  are  bound  to  come  out  right." 

To  Diantha  her  mother  was  magnificent ;  she  could  have 
kissed  her  feet. 

Amy  sent  a  third  telegram  to  her  cousin,  but  the  next 
day  it  was  returned  undelivered;  Tolman  Marriott  had 
gone  from  Pine  Knot,  leaving  no  address. 

That  evening  Amy  and  Diantha  sat  together  on  the 
front  steps,  watching  the  sunset  die  out  at  the  end  of  the 
street.  Diantha  had  resolved  to  cry  no  more  and  had 
kept  her  vow :  but  as  they  sat  quiet,  she  was  moved  to 
the  very  depths, — by  the  glow  in  the  West,  smoke-thwarted 
into  a  poem  of  tone ;  by  her  mother's  steady  eyes ;  by  the 
tangled  memories  of  Redgate,  and  of  some  beautiful  thing 
irrevocably  lost  and  broken  there:  she  was  moved  to  an 
intensity  of  suffering  such  as  the  young  can  know,  while 
life  is  still  more  real  than  thinking. 

Through  the  chord  of  the  city's  voices  struck  a  single 
phrase  from  a  piano,  a  few  notes  immediately  interrupted, 
floating  enigmatical  and  poignant  upon  the  air. 

At  that  moment  there  opened  before  Diantha  some  vista 
of  the  mysterious  world,  of  the  beauty,  the  ineffable 
beauty  beyond  suffering,  which  wrings  the  heart  with  its 
final  anguish  and  with  joy. 

Such  things  are  difficult  to  tell,  but  they  are  reality. 
Diantha  never  forgot  that  hour,  and  it  was  perhaps  then 
that  she  began  to  live;  at  all  events  it  was  then,  and 
not  at  the  moment  of  Fanning's  kiss,  that  she  ceased  to 
be  a  child,  and  took  on  a  woman's  complexity  of  soul. 


"I  MUST  see  Belmarsh,"  said  Vesey,  opening  an  egg. 
He  bore  a  general  appearance  of  having  been  drawn 
through  a  knot-hole.  Mat's  eye,  turned  upon  his  parent, 
expressed  positive  distaste. 

"Would  you  like  me  to  go  down  with  you?"  asked  Amy. 

"No — well — I  don't  know — what  do  you  think?" 

"It  might  help— 

"I'd  stay  out  of  it,  Mother,  if  I  were  you !"  (This  from 
Mat.) 

Following  some  discussion,  Vesey  went  off  alone  to 
"feel  out  the  lay  of  the  land,"  as  he  put  it.  His  opinion 
still  held  that  Belmarsh  did  not  wish  the  searchlight  of 
publicity  to  play  too  rudely  upon  the  structure  of  the 
Pernambuco  Oil  Company ;  but  if  even  an  utterly  reputable 
concern  might  feel  the  loss  of  $8,500,  how  much  would  it 
aggravate  the  totterings  of  an  unstable  one!  .  .  . 
"Though  if  a  cent  of  that  money  ever  gets  to  South  Amer- 
ica, I'll  eat  my  shirt,"  Vesey  had  muttered. 

After  his  father's  departure,  Mat  took  his  sister  by 
the  elbow. 

"Look  here,  what  alternative  have  they — have  we?  All 
we  do  is  to  keep  on  expecting  the  impossible, — gazing 
up  to  heaven  and  calling  for  a  bolt  from  the  blue  to  carry 
off  Belmarsh.  But  that  won't  happen,  you  know;  and  in 
a  day  or  two  Father  will  ride  away  in  the  Black  Maria, 
and  then  what?" 

"Why,  Mat,  I  don't  know.  We  can  all  go  to  work,  and 
we  can  live  far  more  simply.  Plenty  of  people  do  it. 
Herby's  been  earning  money  this  summer  while  we've  been 
frivoling." 

132 


THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS  133 

"Well,  what  would  you  go  to  work  at?  You're  not 
educated  enough  to  be  anything  very  lucrative." 

"If  I  got  seven  or  eight  dollars  a  week,  at  least  that 
would  be  better  than  nothing." 

"As  a  salesperson,  I  suppose  .  .  .  Well!  Go  ahead. 
But  I  don't  intend  to  tie  myself  down  to  that  sort  of  a 
job, — with  no  future;  I  mean  to  make  myself  count." 

"Yes,  Mat,"  said  his  sister.  "How  do  you  mean  to  go 
about  it?" 

"I  think  I'll  start  a  magazine." 

"Oh!"  Even  Diantha  had  heard  that  this  was  not  al- 
ways a  remunerative  career,  especially  to  a  youth  of  Mat's 
temperament.  And  the  determination  to  start  something 
new,  instead  of  working  into  an  established  business, 
sounded  fatally  like  Vesey. 

"I  see,"  said  Mat  pugnaciously,  "you  don't  think  it  can 
be  done :  but  wait.  I  have  any  quantity  of  ideas ;  Ames 
and  I  have  been  talking  it  over  for  a  year,  and  we  meant 
to  do  it  as  soon  as  we  graduated,  but  as  things  have 
turned  out  I  shall  drop  college  and  begin  work  this  fall." 

"It  will  take  money,  won't  it?" 

"That  can  be  arranged,  between  Ames  and  me." 

"Ames  and  you !"  cried  Diantha.  "Then  Ames  will 
have  to  pay  all  the  bills,  because  goodness  knows  the 
Powell  family  can't." 

"My  dear  child,  we  shouldn't  be  so  ridiculous  as  to  carry 
it  ourselves.  We'll  interest  our  rich  and  great  friends 
and  get  them  to  take  stock.  At  first  we'll  have  the  maga- 
zine printed  instead  of  setting  up  our  own  press,  so  you 
see  there  won't  be  any  great  capital  outlay.  The  prin- 
cipal costs  will  be  printing,  advertising,  liberal  checks  to 
contributors,  and  a  trifle  of  overhead." 

"What  rich  and  great  friends  are  you  talking  about? 
Cousin  Tolman,  or  Cousin  Edgar?" 

"Neither,  especially.  We're  going  to  put  this  up  to  a 
lot  of  business  men,  as  a  business  proposition.  What  we 
shall  really  do  is  capitalize  our  own  brains." 


134  THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS 

From  the  first  word  there  had  been  antagonism  between 
Mat  and  Diantha  over  the  proposed  magazine,  and  her 
eye  unerringly  detected  the  least  substantial  links  in  the 
plan.  Mat,  to  whom  it  was  by  this  time  very  nearly 
sacred,  felt  hurt,  and  forebore  to  treat  her  to  the  reading 
which  he  had  planned  of  his  own  poems,  composed  during 
the  past  year  under  the  stimulus  of  University  life. 

However,  no  breach  was  opened  during  the  present  en- 
gagement, for  the  strange  reason  that  Tolman  Marriott 
just  then  rang  the  doorbell. 

"There's  your  bolt  from  the  blue !"  Diantha  flung  his 
jeer  back  at  him,  after  a  scrutiny  through  a  crack  in 
the  front  curtains. 

Till  Amy  came  down,  Tolman  sat  jingling  the  silver  in 
his  trousers  pockets,  and  frowning  involuntarily.  With 
great  discretion  the  children  blotted  themselves  from  view 
during  the  interview: — a  feat  accomplished,  in  a  house 
where  the  only  living-room  measured  twelve  by  fourteen, 
by  sitting  on  the  edge  of  Mat's  bed.  Truce  was  informally 
called  in  regard  to  the  magazine,  and  they  exchanged  pious 
wishes  and  hopes  as  to  the  extent  of  his  probable  benevo- 
lence. 

In  the  midst  of  the  morning's  events,  Vesey  dragged 
himself  back  from  downtown, — his  headache  worse  and 
his  nerves  more  sharp-strung  after  an  unedifying  inter- 
view with  his  superior.  He  stopped  on  the  threshold  as 
if  stunned. 

Tolman  and  Amy  found  him  a  propos,  for  their  talk 
had  reached  the  necessity  of  a  corroborative  exhibit. 

The  telegram  which  Tolman  had  sent  Edgar  had  preyed 
on  his  conscience,  and  interrupted  a  day  of  perfect  fish- 
ing. When  on  his  return  in  the  evening  he  was  given 
Amy's  appeal,  compunction  had  him  completely  in  its 
grasp.  He  thought  of  his  cousin,  once  adorably  pretty 
and  full  of  spirit,  now  broken  by  her  luckless  partner- 
ship: of  her  need  of  real  moral  backing:  of  the  small 
difference  the  money  would  make  to  him :  of  the  possibility 


THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS  135 

of  Vesey's  regeneration, — though  this  was  pure  specula- 
tion. A  motor  carried  him  that  night  to  the  train,  miles 
through  the  mountains ;  he  changed  cars  once  at  three  in 
the  morning  and  once  at  six-thirty,  as  people  must  who 
would  travel  in  New  England;  and  all  the  way  he  was 
revolving  practicable  plans  for  Vesey's  rehabilitation,  se- 
cured by  the  strongest  possible  checks  on  his  conduct. 

He  had  talked  to  Amy  in  a  friendly  spirit  of  coopera- 
tion which  had  shaken  her  composure  by  its  unexpected- 
ness. "Excuse  me  if  I  cry  one  little  weep,"  she  said.  "If 
you  were  an  angel  with  wings  you  couldn't  change  things 
in  this  house  more  wonderfully." 

He  had  been  surprised,  in  his  turn,  by  her  real  and 
complete  faith  in  Vesey's  possibilities,  "and  if  she's  kept 
it  after  living  with  him  twenty  years,  who  am  I  to  doubt 
them?"  he  thought, — continuing,  however,  in  his  skep- 
ticism. 

Vesey  was  wanted,  therefore,  to  display  his  altered 
mind  and  spirit;  and  no  one  could  have  done  so  more 
thoroughly.  Turning  his  eyes  continually  to  his  wife's 
as  if  for  permission  to  speak,  he  pointed  out  to  himself 
and  his  hearers,  not  only  the  basic  immorality  of  his 
mode  of  life,  but  its  folly,  judged  by  the  emoluments  and 
dangers ;  and  without  imposing  any  claim  on  Tolman,  he 
indicated  that  if  some  miracle  should  free  him  from  his 
prospective  fetters  and  give  him  a  fresh  start,  he  would 
know  how  to  profit  by  his  mistakes. 

"That's  as  it  may  be,"  thought  Tolman  again.  "But 
I'd  rather  write  a  check  for  the  whole  amount  than  let 
him  go  to  jail,  since  Amy  seems  to  like  him." 

However,  for  the  safeguarding  of  the  future,  a  more 
elaborate  expedient  was  resorted  to,  emulating  the  Con- 
stitution of  the  United  States  in  its  checks  and  balances. 
It  involved  Tolman's  lending  Vesey  the  $8,500,  giving 
him  a  position,  and  collecting  a  considerable  amount  out 
of  the  salary  each  month;  meanwhile  lending  Amy,  from 
month  to  month,  such  additional  funds  as  might  be  re- 


136  THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS 

quired  for  the  running  of  their  frugal  household, — this 
second  debt  to  be  paid  in  the  undetermined  future. 
Vesey's  reform  might  or  might  not  be  solid,  but  there  was 
no  use  in  tempting  him, — so  Amy  and  Tolman  agreed  in 
thinking, — with  any  superfluity  of  borrowed  coin  at  any 
one  time. 


XI 

WHILE  so  much  was  happening  on  Hickory  Place,  Red- 
gate  languished  without  the  young  Powells;  and  in  fact 
before  a  week  was  up,  the  house-party  had  scattered. 
Christine  and  Luke,  with  their  infant,  came  for  a  few 
days,  and  Edgar  found  her  willing  to  sit  all  day,  discuss- 
ing education  with  him,  and  checking  every  generality  by 
reference  to  the  future  powers  of  her  son. 

Edgar  thought  the  infant  even  more  fascinating,  per- 
haps, than  his  adolescent  brood — "because  he's  all  possi- 
bilities, the  little  pudge,  and  the  others  have  begun  to 
develop  a  few  limitations,  and  so  place  themselves  in 
grooves." 

While  resisting  the  efforts  of  his  grand-nephew  to  lure 
an  adult  finger,  with  clutching,  curling  baby  hands,  into 
a  baby  mouth,  he  told  Christine  much  of  his  hope  for 
the  family  and  its  continuity  of  tradition. 

"  'Honest,  generous,  brave  and  loyal,'  I  used  to  say. 
And  they  must  go  outside  of  themselves, — give  something. 
How  to  make  them  do  it,  that's  the  question.  After  all, 
they  only  give  out  what  good  is  in  them,  and  the  good 
you  can't  train  in, — you  can  only  free  it  by  helping  them 
to  be  natural." 

"Children  are  very  imitative,"  said  Christine.  "I  can 
remember  being  formed  largely  by  my  enthusiasm  for  fine 
personalities." 

("My  son  shall  never  have  cause  to  think  me  anything 
but  fine,"  she  thought,  and  drew  herself  up.) 

"If  God  loves  us  as  much  as  you  love  that  kid,  why 
doesn't  He  make  His  children  turn  out  better?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,"  she  cried,  frightened  by  the  tone 
137 


138  THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS 

of  the  question.  "Most  people  turn  out  pretty  well  if 
you  really  know  their  minds.  Do  you  remember  John 
Carpenter's  song  about  the  colored  toys?  That  explains 
a  lot  to  me,  about  the  love  of  God."  As  she  uttered  these 
damaging  and  unconventional  words,  she  looked  askance 
at  her  uncle,  knowing  that  to  speak  seriously  about  the 
love  of  God  was  to  admit  herself  Victorian;  and  her  Vic- 
torianism  was  a  humiliating  secret  locked  in  her  heart. 

Fanning,  the  godlike  Fanning,  put  in  three  or  four 
days  of  wholesome  reflection,  and  an  evening  of  discus- 
sion with  his  uncle,  before  disappearing  into  the  north 
woods. 

Edgar's  wrath  had  soon  receded,  at  the  sight  of  his 
nephew's  hangdog  face.  Had  it  not  been  for  Diantha,  he 
might  have  been  glad  that  the  boy  had  been  startled  into 
thinking  seriously. 

"If  he  cares  about  Diantha,"  thought  the  deus  ex 
machma,  as  he  ran  his  paper-knife  through  the  pages  of 
a  volume  of  Morley,  "I'll  have  her  out  again,  and  they'll 
patch  it  up  in  no  time." 

Previous  to  this,  he  had  not  considered  match-making 
as  a  career;  but  it  opened  entrancing  vistas.  A  Fanning 
deepened  and  subdued,  though  still  wrapped  in  his  ermine 
mantle,  was  to  lead  to  the  altar  an  apotheosized  Diantha, 
her  own  flower-like  self,  but  with  every  petal  at  full  spread 
in  the  dazzle  of  comfort  and  happiness. 

"By  Jove,  they'd  pull  each  other  up  by  their  boot- 
straps to  the  end  of  the  chapter!"  he  exclaimed  aloud; 
and  flinging  his  biography  aside,  he  launched  into  a 
prophetic  day-dream. 

The  talk  with  Fanning,  however,  though  maneuvered 
toward  this  end,  proved  disillusioning.  Fan  was  ashamed, 
— yes,  he  was  fond  of  Diantha — yes,  indeed;  but  his  love 
had  been  an  affair  of  glamor,  and  had  been  scared  out  of 
him  beyond  recall. 


THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS  139 

"I  expect  I'd  better  write  and  apologize  to  her,"  he 
said.  "Gee,  I  could  roast  myself  over  a  slow  fire,  hurting 
her  feelings  like  that  ...  A  man  just  doesn't  think, 
Uncle  Edgar.  Such  a  nice  little  thing  ...  I  ought  to 
have  been  looking  out  for  her  .  .  .  We  won't  meet  for  a 
while,  till  it  blows  over.  You  talk  to  her,  won't  you,  and 
tell  her  how  sorry  I  am, — she  takes  things  from  you  better 
than  from  anybody  else.  Her  mother  and  father  are 
ghastly,  aren't  they?  She  must  hate  it  at  home  ...  I 
couldn't  bear  to  think  we  weren't  going  to  be  friends 
again.  She's  only  a  kid  after  all,  you  know.  I  don't  be- 
lieve she's  going  to  hold  it  against  me  forever  .  .  .  Oh, 
Lord!" 

Considering  the  lie  of  the  land,  Edgar  was  well  pleased 
to  have  him  removed  from  the  spot  by  ten  degrees  of 
latitude,  for  it  gave  him  a  chance  to  invite  Diantha  back 
and  administer  balm.  She  came,  however,  only  for  a 
week-end  with  her  mother,  during  the  course  of  which  she 
lived  withdrawn  and  undiscoverable  in  a  world  of  her  own. 

Another  Powell  was  more  communicative.  Mat  favored 
his  cousin  with  an  overnight  visit,  and  laid  before  him 
a  pencil-draft  for  the  prospectus  of  "The  Red  Rag" 
(redivivus) . 

"I  want  to  earn  money,  and  help  out  .  .  ."  At  this 
Edgar  nodded.  "Ames  and  I  ..."  and  he  enlarged  for 
fifteen  minutes  on  the  projected  magazine, — "really  con- 
structive, really  radical;  none  of  this  flash-in-the-pan 
stuff,  you  know,  but  sound  reasoning.  We'd  like  awfully 
well  to  have  you  on  the  editorial  staff,  for  one  thing  .  .  . 
There's  a  tremendous  field  for  just  this  sort  of  publica- 
tion between  the  ravings  of  the  dispossessed  and  the  smug- 
ness of  the  respectable.  We'd  guarantee  to  make  it  so 
readable  that  you'd  argue  yourself  unknown  if  you  ad- 
mitted not  having  seen  the  last  issue.  You  know  Ames — 
his  facility,  his  ironic  way  of  getting  under  people's  skins. 


140  THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS 

And  he's  not  scared  of  the  devil  himself  .  .  .  I'm  more 
in  the  forceful  and  fervid  line  myself  .  .  .  good  balance 
of  personalities. 

"We'll  get  hold  of  half-a-dozen  bright  chaps  without 
axes  to  grind,  and  we'll  pay  them  real  money " 

"Ah !"  Edgar  pierced  the  air  before  him  with  a  finger. 
"There's  the  rub, — real  money.  I  grant  it  may  be  pos- 
sible to  get  subscribers ;  I  grant  the  initial  outlay  can 
be  covered  with  the  aid  of  myself  and  a  few  friends, — 
since  that's  plainly  what  you're  up  here  to  talk  about ; — 
I  grant  all  that,  and  I  freely  concede  that  you  and  Ames 
are  as  smart  as  most  magazine  writers : — but  who's  going 
to  advertise  in  'The  Red  Rag'?  Radicals,  you  know,  are 
not  the  property-owning  class,  nor  is  it  they  who  pay  five 
thousand  for  a  back  page  to  call  people's  attention  to 
Rosemarine  Talcum  Cream." 

"Well,  who  do  you  think  would?"  Mat  asked,  cleverly 
turning  the  question,  whose  solution  had  not  figured  promi- 
nently in  his  thought. 

"There's  a  limited  field,"  said  Edgar  thoughtfully. 
"Mostly  publishers,  I  should  think.  Look  over  the  files 
of  'The  Quarry'  and  'The  Intransigeant,'  and  see  what 
they  carry.  You'll  need  a  good  business  manager,  and  I 
imagine  a  New  York  advertising  representative.  .  .  .  All 
that  will  cost  money.  Do  you  expect  to  pay  dividends?" 

"We  hope  to  after  it  gets  going.  Here's  our  estimate 
of  expense  .  .  ." 

They  went  over  his  figures, — Edgar  suggesting  such 
items  as  his  experience  warranted,  and  at  the  end  adding 
33  1/3  %  to  the  total  for  "unforeseen  leakages." 

"Ames  and  I,"  said  Mat,  "are  allowing  ourselves  twelve 
dollars  a  week  apiece, — that  ought  to  support  us  after  a 
fashion;  the  profits  over  that  are  to  go  into  dividends  to 
stockholders." 

"You  have  a  perfect  right  to  capitalize  your  brains, 
and  pay  yourselves  dividends  if  you  ever  get  to  that  point : 
but  in  fairness  I  must  say  that  most  magazines  of  an 


THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS  141 

intellectual  type,  especially  with  radical  tendencies,  are 
pure  labors  of  love.  You'll  never  build  a  house  out  of 
your  dividends." 

Mat  was  forced  to  admit  as  much. 

"None  the  less,  it'll  be  an  interesting  game,  and  most 
educational,  far  more  so  than  staying  at  the  University. 
I  don't  regret  that  for  a  minute." 

"I'll  be  saving  you  some  money  by  leaving  there." 

Edgar  chuckled.  "I  imagine  it  would  come  cheaper  in 
the  long  run  for  me  to  keep  you  in  college  than  to  begin 
financing  your  magazine.  All  the  same,  I  take  to  the 
notion.  Understand,  I'm  not  made  of  money.  If  I  put  a 
few  thousand  dollars  into  your  'Red  Rag,'  I  want  the 
rights  of  property  respected  sufficiently  to  give  me  a 
chance  of  some  dividends,  and  an  eventual  clearing  of  the 
debt." 

"You're  absolutely  right,  Cousin  Edgar.  I  wouldn't 
ask  you  to  subscribe  on  any  other  basis.  Who  else  do 
you  suppose  we  could  approach?  Cousin  Tolman?" 

Edgar's  eyes  rolled  impishly  under  the  angle  of  his 
brows.  "Don't  go  near  Tolman,"  he  said.  "I  warn  you 
as  a  friend.  Tolman  is  not  a  radical.  You'll  hear  from 
him  soon  enough,  but  there  won't  be  any  stock  subscrip- 
tion to  it.  Wait:  I'll  give  you  a  list  of  half-a-dozen  men 
I  used  to  know,  who  might  support  your  idea.  You  can 
use  my  name  within  limits;  I  trust  you  with  it,  and  you 
can  return  it  to  me  undamaged.  There !"  he  had  scribbled 
on  a  paper.  "You  can  look  these  addresses  up  in  the 
telephone  book;  I've  lost  touch  with  most  of  them,  but 
they're  good  fellows,  and  liberal  toward  the  vagaries  of 
youth.  Will  you  have  tea?" 

Edgar  was  at  heart  delighted  with  the  "Red  Rag"  and 
promised  himself  infinite  pleasure  out  of  the  new  toy. 
Ames  and  Edgar  worshiped  him  when  they  saw  how  his 
pen  could  wrest  money  out  of  gruff  plutocrats  who  had 
treated  them  with  scarcely  veiled  sarcasm.  He  went  so 


142  THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS 

far  as  to  ask  three  of  what  he  called  the  "tough  nuts"  up 
for  a  week-end,  wives  and  all,  so  as  to  afford  the  boys  a 
chance  of  meeting  them.  By  cajolery,  by  wit,  by  oratory, 
by  argument,  he  piled  up  a  subsidy — for  none  of  the 
donors  were  under  illusions  as  to  the  dividends  they  were 
to  receive — sufficient  to  carry  the  magazine  for  two  years, 
even  running  at  a  dead  loss. 

"Any  money  you  happen  to  get  in,  either  subscriptions 
or  advertising,  is  just  'velvet,'  and  prolongs  your  lives  to 
that  extent,"  he  pointed  out  to  them.  "In  two  years  you'll 
have  sunk  or  swum." 

Ames  and  Mat  labored  long  over  their  editorial  policy, 
which  skirted  syndicalism  at  a  distance,  and  held  "direct 
action"  in  horror,  while  on  the  other  hand  Woman's 
Suffrage  was  axiomatic,  and  the  Initiative,  Referendum 
and  Recall  too  banal  to  be  considered. 

They  hired  an  office,  and  engaged  a  square-headed 
young  man  as  "executive," — reserving  to  themselves  the 
posts  of  editor  and  office-boy.  Their  own  propaganda, — 
paid  and  unpaid, — they  pushed  untiringly,  with  Edgar's 
counsel,  and  an  occasional  word  in  a  publicist's  ear. 

After  the  closing  of  Redgate  Farms,  Eddie  had  under- 
taken to  arrange  himself  a  studio  at  home,  and  he  now 
scandalized  Rhoda  by  the  introduction  into  the  house  of 
foreign-looking  persons  who,  although  they  appeared 
fully  clothed,  she  had  reason  to  know  were  "professional 
nude  models,"  and  who  dressed  and  undressed  behind  a 
screen.  Had  the  thing  been  conceivable,  she  would  have 
given  notice;  at  it  was,  she  registered  a  firm  protest  with 
Mr.  Edgar  against  being  forced  to  open  the  door  for 
them,  and  only  his  personal  petition  that  she  would  bear 
with  Eddie  "till  he  lived  through  this  phase,"  availed  to 
pacify  her. 

"Such  goings-on!"  she  muttered,  vociferously  washing 
dishes.  "What  the  old  madam  would  have  said,  Lord 
only  knows !" 

Eddie's  studio  became  a  favorite  meeting-place  for  the 


THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS  143 

board  of  the  "Red  Rag,"  and  he  was  carried  away  on  the 
tide  of  enthusiasm.  Not  only  did  he  make  a  wood-cut 
block  for  the  cover  design,  and  two  bold  and  barbarous 
crayon  caricatures  for  the  first  issue, — he  swallowed  the 
prospectus,  hook,  line  and  sinker,  from  Government  own- 
ership to  the  Higher  Pacifism.  Before  long  the  incredible 
had  happened,  in  that  he  had  taken  his  pen  in  hand  and 
written  an  imaginary  interview  between  Lloyd  George 
then  a  dreadful  demagogue,  and  Woodrow  Wilson,  a 
theoretical  politician  from  Princeton,  who  was  running  on 
the  Democratic  ticket  for  Governor. 

Diantha  stayed  at  home,  seething  with  indignation. 
She  did  not — not — not — believe  in  the  magazine;  she 
thought  the  boys  were  imposing  shamefully  on  Cousin 
Edgar,  whose  customary  good  judgment  seemed  to  have 
failed  him.  The  enormity  of  Mat's  awarding  himself 
twelve  dollars  a  week  out  of  "Cousin  Edgar's  money,"  t.nd 
then  buying  out  of  it  not  only  food  and  shoes,  but  neck- 
ties and  fountain-pens,  outraged  her.  She  was  miserable 
and  bored,  but  she  could  not  be  a  party  to  iniquity;  and 
besides  the  financial  instability,  had  not  Mamma  said 
that  the  "whole  idea"  of  the  "Red  Rag"  was  destructive 
and  wicked? 

Imagine,  then,  her  state  of  mind  when  she  heard  that 
"the  Board"  had  elected  Mat  its  New  York  representa- 
tive, and  was  paying  his  expenses  down  there. 

"Graft,  that's  all  it  is !"  she  said  to  Mat.  He  pitied 
and  disliked  her  for  her  attitude.  She  was  utterly 
wretched. 

It  remains  only  to  be  said  that  Tolman  proved  himself 
far  from  a  radical,  but  near  to  a  roaring  lion.  First  he 
mangled  Edgar  verbally  for  supporting  the  boys  in  their 
subversive  attitude. 

".  .  .  One  doesn't  mind  young  chaps  having  fiz/ly 
ideas,"  he  said,  "but  generally  their  lack  of  funds  keeps 


144  THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS 

them  out  of  serious  mischief.  It  is  iniquitous,  Edgar,  to 
give  them  their  heads  and  a  lot  of  cold  cash,  and  let  them 
scratch  matches  all  around  the  gasoline  tank." 

Edgar  murmured  something  about  the  value  of  getting 
the  fizzle  out  of  their  system.  In  truth,  he  blushed  when 
he  looked  Tolman  in  the  eye. 

"You  don't  care,"  said  Tolman,  "if  your  class  in  society 
rots  or  explodes.  Just  because  you're  a  cripple  and  can't 
take  part,  you're  helping  blow  the  rest  of  us  up.  Every 
good  thing  about  you, — your  money,  your  brains,  your 
education,  your  family, — comes  out  of  the  system  of  pri- 
vate property.  And  you're  willing  to  steal  those  chances 
from  your  children  and  mine." 

"Your  children  and  mine  are  sturdy  enough  to  stand 
on  their  own  legs  instead  of  the  rungs  of  a  stepladder," 
said  Edgar,  who  was  finding  the  dialogue  fatiguing  be- 
cause there  was  no  way  of  reaching  Tolman  with  an 
answer. 

After  the  failure  of  this  attack,  Tolman  sent  for  Mat 
at  his  office,  and  made  him  an  astonishing  proposal. 

"It's  not  because  I  like  you,"  he  explained.  "You've 
succeeded  in  annoying  me  and  worrying  me  beyond  all 
bounds ;  it's  because  I'm  very  fond  of  your  mother,  and 
I'm  trying  to  help  her  pull  her  family  together,  and  now 
when  your  father's  just  getting  on  his  feet,  you  have  to 
go  off  on  a  tangent  like  this  'Red  Rag'  which  will  make 
trouble  for  everybody,  and  which  you  will  live  to  regret, 
and  which  your  relatives  can't  afford  to  have  flaunted  in 
the  face  of  the  world." 

The  proposal  was,  in  brief,  that  if  the  Board  would 
disband  and  refund  the  subsidy  to  its  subscribers,  Tolman 
Marriott  would  make  good  the  sums  already  expended; 
and  he  would  further  lend  Mat  a  capital  equal  to  one-half 
the  subsidy,  to  be  invested  in  any  reputable  business  which 
might  have  Tolman's  approval  and  supervision. 

Mat  took  the  situation  under  advisement.    He  could  not 


THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS  145 

refuse  his  cousin  the  credit  of  being  willing  to  pay  for 
his  convictions. 

But  the  "Red  Rag"  had  become  too  dear  to  its  founders 
to  be  lightly  abandoned ;  and  there  was  even  an  additional 
charm  in  the  price  on  its  head.  Capitalism  had  tried 
to  choke  the  voice  of  free-speech;  capitalism  must  be  re- 
buffed,— politely,  as  was  due,  but  unmistakably.  Sic 
semper  tyrannis! 

The  story  should  be  written  up  in  the  first  issue — with- 
out names  .  .  .  Only  Edgar's  personal  plea  suppressed 
the  resultant  editorial ;  and  as  Mat  pigeon-holed  it  he  felt 
uneasily  that  the  press  was  being  muffled  after  all. 

"It's  perfect  rot,  this  belonging  to  a  respectable  fam- 
ily," said  he  to  Ames.  "If  we  can  never  hurt  anybody's 
feelings,  what  are  we  going  to  put  in  the  'Rag'?" 

"We'll  find  somebody's  feelings  to  hurt,  so  don't 
worry,"  replied  the  Editor-in-Chief.  "But  it's  not  rot 
at  all,  belonging  to  a  respectable  family.  If  you  tried 
belonging  to  the  other  kind  for  a  while,  you'd  be  glad 
enough  to  change  back." 

"Seems  to  me  I  have  all  the  disadvantages  of  both 
kinds,"  growled  Mat,  thinking  as  affectionately  as  usual 
of  his  father. 


PART  III 


"You  will  positively  be  over,  won't  you,  Edgar?"  Daisy 
sat  at  the  telephone,  and  tapped  with  her  pencil  upon  a 
list  which  her  secretary  had  made  out  for  immediate  atten- 
tion. "A  few  of  us  old  fogies  are  going  to  have  a  table 
in  the  music-room?  and  Tolman  says  he  needs  you  to  sup- 
port him.  You  know  you're  well  enough.  Josie  won't  feel 
her  party's  complete  unless  you  come,  Edgar." 

"Why,  thank  you,  Daisy.  You  know  I  never  go  any- 
where; but  I  realize  what  a  special  occasion  this  is,  and 
of  course  Josie  and  I  are  pals.  Well,  I  think  I  can  make 
it:  what  time?" 

"Eight  o'clock,"  and  on  the  heels  of  his  acceptance 
Daisy  turned  to  the  waiting  Miss  Dulany. 

"Would  you  like  to  speak  to  the  caterer  before  he  goes, 
Mrs.  Marriott?" 

"If  you'll  ask  him  to  step  in  a  minute  .   .  ." 

One  doubts  whether  Edgar  really  rated  at  its  proper 
worth,  after  all,  the  seriousness  of  Josie's  coming-out 
party.  But  in  the  house  on  the  drive,  little  else  had  been 
discussed  since  October,  at  least  in  those  hours  before 
luncheon  when  mail  is  opened,  nails  are  manicured  and 
the  mechanism  of  polite  life  oiled  and  tuned.  It  is  true 
that  Christine  and  Adeline  had  made  their  debut  success- 
fully enough  at  a  ball  at  Bournique's,  and  the  Marriotts 
had  invited  "everybody  on  the  North,  South  and  West 
Sides  who  owned  a  boiled  shirt,"  as  Joshua  had  confided 
to  Captain  Toody  .  .  .  one  of  those  balls  at  which  the 
company  balanced  a  plate  of  chicken-salad  on  its  knee 
146 


THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS  147 

for  supper,  while  a  colored  waiter  circulated  with  a  tray, 
offering  coffee  or  chocolate;  one  of  those  balls  at  which 
there  were  dishes  of  dance-cards  in  the  dressing-rooms. 
But  in  the  intervening  years  Chicago  had  taken  a  number 
of  the  steps  that  divide  the  small  town  from  the  metropo- 
lis, and  the  Marriott  family  had  perhaps  withdrawn  itself 
by  a  few  upward  degrees  from  the  memory  of  Ricky 
Pellew's  spectacular  collapse  and  Lucinda's  eccentricity. 

So  at  Josie's  party,  more  important  than  the  names  to 
be  included  were  those  to  be  omitted;  and  it  had  seemed 
fitting  to  Daisy  to  limit  the  invitations  by  giving  a  dinner- 
dance  at  her  own  house  instead  of  a  ball  at  the  Black- 
stone.  "It's  to  be  very  small  and  informal,"  the  Marriotts 
went  about  saying;  but  it  is  obvious  when  one  has  two 
smart  young  married  daughters  they  must  be  asked,  and 
a  few  of  their  friends  must  be  asked,  and — well,  Triggs 
had  been  ordered  to  serve  dinner  for  two  hundred  and 
thirty-six ;  and  even  at  that,  some  omissions  had  occurred 
which  waked  Daisy  up  in  the  middle  of  the  night  with  that 
sensation  of  horror  which  means  that  another  hair  has 
blanched  untimely. 

During  the  summer  of  1911  Hickory  Place  had  been 
almost  barricaded  by  the  building  operations  at  the  rear 
of  the  Marriott  mansion.  Tolman  had  bought  two  of 
the  small  houses  to  the  west  of  his  lot,  and  had  con- 
structed a  picture-gallery  to  enshrine  his  Barbizon  mas- 
terpieces. It  had  a  musicians'  balcony  and  a  majestic 
carved  stone  mantel,  and  the  possession  of  it  was  what 
had  suggested  to  Daisy  the  necessity  of  a  house  dinner- 
dance.  A  new  art-gallery  creates  obligations.  And  while 
they  were  about  it,  Daisy  had  resolved  to  "do  it  up 
brown,"  and  give  a  dinner-dance  which  should  stand  for 
years  as  a  gauge  for  succeeding  functions.  During  the 
afternoon — Thanksgiving  afternoon — there  was  to  be  a 
tea,  to  which  were  bidden  the  mature,  the  wealthy,  the  old 
family  friends ;  after  an  hour's  respite,  during  which  the 
caterer's  men  were  to  spirit  into  the  front  rooms  a  forest 


148  THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS 

of  tables,  the  young  and  the  chic  were  to  arrive.  At  some 
period  during  the  evening  Luciani  was  to  sing — so  said 
rumor ;  after  midnight  two  Russians  from  New  York  were 
to  dance;  there  were  to  be  cotillion  favors  which  came  in 
jewelers'  boxes;  and  the  carriage-call  was  for  three 
o'clock,  though  sausage  and  pancakes  had  been  provided 
for  those  bolder  spirits  who  might  stay  till  four. 

"Are  you  sure  you  have  enough  stags,  mother?"  asked 
Adeline. 

"Speak  to  Miss  Dulany,  my  dear :  I  can't  keep  numbers 
in  my  head.  Josie's  suited,  so  I'm  not  agitated." 

Josie  came  in  at  this  moment,  pursued  by  a  dressmaker. 

"Look,  Mother  dear,"  she  said.  "Here's  my  dress,  just 
come  home." 

"I  like  it,"  said  her  mother.     "Turn  around." 

"You  don't  think  it  makes  me  look  a  little  fat  through 
here?" 

"Nonsense,  you're  thinner  than  is  healthy." 

"Josie's  right,  Mother,"  put  in  Adeline.  "You  might  let 
this  out." 

"Why,  Ad !    It  needs  taking  in,  not  letting  out." 

"Don't  interrupt  me.  Would  you  mind  ripping  out 
those  little  gathers,  Miss  Ethel?  .  .  .  There!  Now  just 
let  it  hang  loose.  That's  much  newer — the  dress  I  got  in 
New  York  had  just  that  line.  You  can  press  it  that  way, 
Miss  Ethel." 

Daisy  and  Josie  were  forced  to  admit  that  Adeline's 
instinct  in  matters  of  dress  surpassed  their  own.  She  was 
accustomed  to  say  that  if  Ernest  lost  his  money  she'd 
enjoy  running  a  dressmaking  shop. 

"Have  you  taken  Miss  Powell's  frock  over  yet?"  Daisy 
asked. 

"Not  yet,  madam.    I'm  going  there  next." 

"What!  Is  Diantha  coming?  Why,  she's  not  out  of 
school  yet." 

"I  know,  but  Tolman  simply  said  that  if  we  didn't  ask 


THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE   POWELLS  149 

her  he  wouldn't  come  either  ...  It  does  no  harm,  you 
know." 

"I  suppose  not.    It  is  sort  of  a  bore,  though,  isn't  it?" 

"I'm  awfully  fond  of  Di,"  said  Josie  stoutly. 

"Yes,  but  she  doesn't  know  your  friends,  and  she'll  have 
a  horrid  time  at  the  dance.  I  think  she's  too  young.  Why 
don't  you  tell  her  mother  she  ought  to  go  home  early?" 

"I'll  keep  an  eye  on  her,"  said  Daisy  comfortably.  "No- 
body's going  to  be  stuck  at  this  dance  if  Josie  and  I  can 
prevent  it." 

"Well,  I  think  you  were  a  darling  to  give  her  a  dress." 

"It  was  a  case  of  had  to,  my  dear.  Otherwise  she'd 
have  made  over  the  parlor  curtains,  or  wrapped  herself  in 
a  bureau-cover." 

A  few  doors  down  Hickory  Place,  havoc  was  let  loose 
by  the  arrival  of  the  dressmaker's  box.  Daisy  had  charac- 
teristically sent  the  dress  without  warning,  and  since  the 
receipt  of  the  invitation,  Amy  and  Diantha  had  passed 
their  evenings  in  the  home  manufacture  of  net  over  pink 
china  silk.  Diantha,  surveying  their  handiwork,  was 
forced  to  the  admission  that  though  the  Powell  family 
could  sew  with  strong,  unyielding  stitches,  they  lacked 
something  of  the  higher  creative  sense.  Amy  had  thought 
the  dress  very  sweet  and  pretty  and  appropriate,  and 
worshiped  her  young  daughter  so  attired. 

But  the  gown  which  disclosed  itself  under  a  million 
folds  of  tissue-paper  in  Celeste's  box,  was,  as  even  Amy 
could  see,  in  a  class  apart.  Part  of  it  shimmered  and 
part  of  it  drifted ;  part  of  it  was  a  fairy  blue,  caught  with 
shell-like  roses ;  here  and  there  was  lace,  and  here  and 
there  were  crystal  sparkles.  It  was  the  very  first  "party- 
dress"  Diantha  had  been  privileged  to  put  on  which  had 
not  previously  graced  Josie's  sturdy  form. 

"Oh,  it's  too  beautiful,  too  beautiful!"  cried  Diantha. 
"You  don't  suppose  there's  any  mistake,  do  you?  It 
couldn't  possibly  be  for  Josie  herself?" 


150  THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS 

"Not  at  all,"  said  the  correct  Miss  Ethel.  "Mrs.  Mar- 
riott ordered  it  for  a  Christmas  present  for  Miss  Powell, 
and  she  asked  me  to  come  in  and  see  if  it  needed  any  little 
alterations.  There  are  some  slippers  ordered  from 
O'Rourke's,  of  the  same  material." 

I  may  as  well  say  that  from  this  day  onward,  Diantha's 
proud  democratic  simplicity  was  weakened.  However 
scandalous  she  might  think  Mat's  inroads  upon  Cousin 
Edgar's  purse,  it  was  not  in  her  heart  to  refuse  gifts  like 
this  one ;  and  for  two  or  three  months  she  quite  venerated 
Cousin  Daisy  Marriott. 

Of  the  famous  party  itself,  I  have  comparatively  little 
to  tell:  it  fulfilled  expectations.  Josie  was  fairly  launched 
on  a  career  of  triumph,  and  only  the  people  who  had  not 
been  invited  to  receive  them  complained  of  the  ostenta- 
tiousness  of  the  favors. 

Edgar  found  himself  a  corner  from  which  to  pass  judg- 
ment on  the  young  world  which  he  was  seeing  assembled 
for  perhaps  the  first  time  in  fifteen  years,  and  besought 
his  friend  Mrs.  Gurney  to  sit  by  his  side  and  tell  him  "who 
the  children  were." 

"You  know,  that  music  makes  me  feel  like  a  two-year- 
old,"  said  he.  "I  think  I'll  hire  me  a  band  to  play  after 
dinner  every  evening,  and  see  if  it  won't  cure  all  my 
afflictions." 

"You  need  to  get  out  more,  Edgar." 

"I  believe  you're  right." 

"You're  younger  and  handsomer  now  than  two-thirds 
of  those  gawkish  long-faced  boys,"  and  she  gave  him  a 
flattering  look. 

"There's  nobody  like  you  for  making  a  fellow  conceited, 
Prissie,"  he  said,  laughing  comfortably.  "There  goes 
young  Josie.  Look  at  her  ineffable  society  smile — my 
Lord !" 

"I  suppose  she  can't  help  having  her  head  turned  a 
bit,  but  she'll  get  over  it.  Debutantes  always  think  the 


THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE   POWELLS  151 

world  revolves  around  them,  because  a  few  people  act  as 
if  it  did.  Wait  till  she's  been  out  two  years." 

"Ah !  here  come  the  real  beauties !" 

"You  prejudiced  old  uncle!  They're  no  beautifuller 
than  anybody  else." 

"You're  blind  if  you  don't  see  it." 

"How  did  Fan  get  away  from  college?" 

"His  mother's  clean  demented  about  this  party,  tmd 
has  been  for  weeks.  She  ordered  him  home." 

Fan  and  Diantha  were  dancing  together  at  the  moment, 
and  beyond  question  each  thought  the  other  beautiful. 
Her  large  eyes  were  shining  up  into  his,  and  they  were 
dancing  in  a  dream. 

"Why  was  I  goose  enough  to  send  her  that  dress?" 
thought  Daisy.  "Fan  .  .  .  Fan!  I  want  to  speak  to 
you  .  .  .  Don't  let  Diantha  get  stuck  .  .  .  She  doesn't 
know  people  .  .  .  Introduce  your  friends  to  her." 

"Don't  you  worry,"  laughed  Fan.  "Everybody  wants 
to  meet  her ;  but  I  know  a  good  thing  when  I  see  one.  I 
don't  intend  to  let  her  meet  every  Tom,  Dick  and  Harry 
that's  here." 

"Don't  be  a  pig,  Fan.    This  is  her  first  party." 

"I  say,  Di,"  said  Fan  confidentially  to  his  pretty  part- 
ner, "would  you  like  to  meet  all  those  fellows?" 

"Why,  yes,  Fan." 

"Oh !    Then  you  don't  like  dancing  with  me." 

"Fanning  Marriott,  you  know  I'd  rather  dance  with  you 
than  anybody ;  but  you  can't  spend  the  whole  evening  with 
me." 

"I  suppose  not."  Whereupon  he  introduced  to  her,  in 
a  lowering  and  disagreeable  manner,  two  or  three  young 
men  around  the  punch-bowl. 

"It's  just  as  I  expected,"  he  growled;  "she's  gone  for 
good."  For  now,  at  each  pause  in  the  dancing,  he  saw  her 
partners  presenting  more  men  to  her,  all  of  whom  showed 
a  lively  desire  for  her  company. 

Fan  planted  himself  in  the  forefront  of  the  stag-line, 


152  THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS 

and  stood  scowling,  his  hands  behind  his  back,  until  his 
mother  routed  him  out  and  made  him  do  his  duty.  "She 
doesn't  think  about  me  any  more  than  if  I  was  a  waiter," 
he  said  to  himself.  "I  wonder  if  her  ladyship  so  much  as 
remembers  she  let  me  kiss  her  once."  And  this  question 
so  vexed  him  that  during  the  cotillion  he  thought  well  to 
draw  it  to  her  attention. 

"Come  on  and  dance,  Di,"  he  said,  rushing  up  and 
tendering  her  a  toy  balloon.  She  floated  into  his  arms, 
and  they  danced  in  a  pool  of  colored  light,  under  the 
bobbing  fantastic  spheres. 

"Di,  has  anybody  ever  kissed  you  since?" 

"Since  what,  Fan? — oh! — Why,  you  perfect  idiot!" 

"Well,  has  anybody?" 

"If  you  can't  guess,  you're  so  stupid  there's  no  use 
telling  you." 

"You  young  vixen!"  he  emphasized  his  vexation  by 
slightly  shaking  her. 

The  devil  died  out  in  her  laughing  face  for  a  second,  as 
she  said  with  dry  seriousness,  "No,  Fan,  I've  never  learned 
to  think  well  of  casual  kissing." 

"Then  you  haven't  really  forgiven  me  yet?" 

"Oh,  yes,"  evasively.  "That  was  years  ago.  I've  really 
forgotten  it." 

"I'm  just  as  sorry  as  I  ever  was,  Di.  It  has  sort  of 
spoiled  things  between  us." 

"Perhaps  it  has,"  she  said  soberly.  Then  the  festive 
spirit  flamed  up  again,  and  her  mischievous  smile  played 
upon  him.  "How  many  girls  have  you,  kissed  in  the  last 
two  years,  Fan?" 

"Not  so  many  as  you  think." 

"Don't  let  one  unfortunate  experience  stop  you." 

"Di,  I  hate  you  when  you  try  to  be  devilish;  it  isn't 
your  line." 

She  retaliated  by  a  very  shameless  grimace  over  his 
shoulder  toward  the  stag-line,  which  produced  an  imme- 
diate result ;  and  Fanning  danced  with  her  no  more. 


n 

"I  ALMOST  wish  Cousin  Daisy  hadn't  asked  me,"  said 
Di,  after  two  weeks  during  which  she  had  kicked  Celeste's 
dress-box  every  time  she  made  her  bed.  "If  I  hadn't 
known  what  good  times  other  girls  have,  I  could  have 
stood  it  better." 

Amy  ceased  to  escort  the  carpet-sweeper  across  the 
tract  in  front  of  the  bureau,  and  directed  an  anxious 
look  at  her  daughter.  "You  know  those  things  don't 
count,  Diantha." 

"In  theory  I  know  they  don't,  Mamma,  but  in  practice 
I'm  just  starving  for  them.  I  want  to  wear  that  lovely 
dress  again,  but  I  don't  expect  ever  to  have  the  chance." 

"Why,  dearie,  you  have  lots  of  good  times  coming; 
you're  too  young,  that's  all.  If  it  had  been  anybody's 
party  but  your  own  cousin's,  I  shouldn't  have  let  you  go. 
Wait  till  next  year." 

"The  girls  that  are  away  at  school  have  parties  in  the 
holidays,  but  I'm  not  asked  to  any  of  them." 

"You  don't  know  them." 

"No.  I  don't."  She  kicked  the  box  again.  Cousin 
Edgar  had  offered  Diantha  two  years  at  an  Eastern 
school,  but  her  vexation  at  Mat's  lack  of  pride,  as  she 
considered  it,  had  prevented  her  accepting  this  obligation. 
And  it  must  be  confessed  that  she  had  not  further  en- 
deared herself  to  her  schoolmates  in  Chicago.  The  pre- 
vailing atmosphere  had  continued,  and  was  likely  to  do 
so  until  after  Diantha's  graduation,  owing  to  the  presence 
of  three  or  four  cheerful  vulgarians  as  class  officers ;  and 
though  they  had  plenty  of  parties,  they  no  longer  invited 
Diantha.  She  did,  alas!  "give  herself  airs"  which  the 
153 


154  THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE:  POWELLS 

healthy  Americanism  of  her  fellows  was  swift  to  punish 
in  a  thousand  ways ;  and  a  breach  had  widened  beyond 
mending.  Unfortunately  too,  her  relatives  who  inter- 
ested themselves  in  her  development  took  no  steps  to  cor- 
rect her  manner  of  thinking,  partly  because  she  gave 
herself  no  airs  in  their  presence,  and  partly  because, 
according  to  their  traditions,  she  was  making  a  distinct 
sacrifice  of  caste  in  remaining  at  the  public  high  school, 
and  could  not  be  expected  to  find  congenial  company  there. 

"I  hate  this  dangling  between  earth  and  heaven,"  she 
continued  bitterly: — "clutching  at  the  very  last  taggling 
tatter  of  respectability.  I'd  much  rather  not  try  to  be- 
have like  a  cousin  of  the  Tolman  Marriotts." 

"My  dear  child,"  said  her  mother  with  some  asperity, 
"I  don't  care  for  a  moment  whether  you  behave  like  a 
cousin  of  the  Tolman  Marriotts,  and  it  isn't  the  slightest 
pleasure  to  me  to  have  you  go  to  their  parties,  if  you're 
going  to  be  disagreeable  for  a  month  afterward.  The  only 
ambition  I  have  for  you  socially  is  that  you  should  con- 
duct yourself  like  a  lady,  which  is  what  }7ou  are  and  what 
your  forebears  have  been  as  long  as  anybody  can  re- 
member." 

Rarely  did  Amy  express  herself  with  such  force;  and 
Diantha  felt  jarred  and  hurt,  but  was  at  least  silenced. 
Amy  breathed  deeply  as  she  wielded  the  oil-mop,  and  ad- 
mitted to  herself  that  her  nerves  were  wearing  near  the 
skin. 

Herbert,  now  past  sixteen,  and  for  the  most  part  a  com- 
fortable lad  though  stolid  to  a  fault,  had  begun  grasping 
after  cigarettes  and  pool-rooms,  and  was  to  be  seen 
dangling  about  street-corners  in  the  company  of  youths 
whom  he  showed  no  inclination  to  introduce  to  his  mother. 

As  for  Mat  and  his  "Red  Rag,"  it  had  long  been  a 
cross  to  her, — violating  as  it  did  her  loyalty  to  true 
religion  and  the  Republican  party ;  but  from  time  to  time 
acute  crises  aggravated  her  chronic  suffering,  and  such 
a  crisis  was  now  at  hand.  From  this  it  will  be  correctly 


THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS  155 

surmised  that  the  "Rag"  was  continuing  its  issues;  and 
as  its  third  winter  had  now  begun,  obviously  it  had 
stored  up  some  little  of  that  "velvet"  upon  which  Edgar 
had  calculated  with  slight  assurance.  Not  only  had  it 
succeeded  in  surviving;  its  subscription  list  was  in  a 
healthy  state,  it  had  successfully  raised  its  advertising 
rates.  Its  contributors  were  the  best-known  names  in  its 
own  field,  and  at  the  close  of  the  past  fiscal  year  the  stock- 
holders had  been  struck  dumb  with  surprise  in  receiving 
checks  for  dividends  at  the  rate  of  !%%»  and  the  promise 
of  more  to  come. 

Three  causes  might  be  held  responsible  for  this  state  of 
affairs,  which  was  of  an  extreme  rarity  among  periodicals, 
and  which  almost  justified  the  claim  of  the  prospectus 
that  the  "Red  Rag"  had  established  itself  as  a  going 
concern.  First,  the  square-headed  young  man  who  has 
been  mentioned  as  the  business  manager  proved  a  paragon 
for  successful  management.  Some  attendant  spirit  whis- 
pered to  him  where  expenses  might  be  cut  down  after  they 
had  been  cut  and  cut  to  the  bone ;  where  advertising  could 
be  placed  so  that  it  brought  tangible  results ;  how  letters 
were  to  be  written  which  practically  forced  subscriptions 
out  of  their  recipients,  and  how  lists  were  to  be  compiled  of 
the  very  types  of  men  to  whom  the  letters  would  appeal; 
on  what  day  of  the  week  and  at  what  hour  of  the  day 
advertising  managers  saw  most  clearly  the  advantages  of 
space  in  a  radical  intellectual  journal;  which  millionaires 
might  be  most  successfully  approached  for  subsidizing 
certain  issues  featuring  their  pet  hobbies ;  how  to  control 
the  temperaments  of  his  office-force ;  in  a  word,  how  to  run 
a  magazine.  He  believed  implicitly  in  the  "Rag,"  which 
he  secretly  regarded  as  the  work  of  his  hands  exclusively, 
considering  that  one  writer  would  have  done  about  as  well 
as  another,  and  one  policy,  so  long  as  the  business  man- 
agement was  competent. 

It  had  early  been  laid  down  that  no  person  was  to 
draw  to  a  greater  extent  than  $1,200  a  year  on  the  re- 


156  THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS 

sources  of  the  magazine;  the  rule  was  Garrity's  own, 
because  he  saw  that  otherwise  the  balance-sheet  would  not 
be  presentable;  and  he  had  remained  absolutely  loyal,  in 
the  face  of  bait  and  allurement  much  more  golden  from 
other  publications  which  saw  his  worth.  He  had  his 
reward,  indeed,  in  every  sweet-smelling  number  that  piled 
up  beside  the  presses ;  and  to  the  trade  Garrity  was,  in 
large  measure,  the  "Red  Rag." 

A  second  reason  lay  in  the  gifts  of  Ames  Bicknell  as 
editor,  for  though  he  and  Mat  shared  the  glory  of  this 
post,  it  was  his  subtle  mind  that  sought  out  the  contribu- 
tors, and  enticed  them  into  writing  their  best  for  a  small 
remuneration  (for  the  "liberal  checks"  had  dwindled  in 
fact  to  the  smallest  possible  amounts).  It  cannot  be  said 
that  Ames  was  a  sound  thinker  or  a  consistent  one;  he 
gloried  in  his  enthusiasms,  most  of  which  never  matured, 
while  the  roster  of  them  changed  quarterly ;  but  he  had  a 
flair  for  the  currents  of  thought, — a  sixth  sense  compa- 
rable to  Garrity's  business  faculty ;  he  avoided  asking  for 
articles  which  would  be  vieux  jeu  by  the  time  they  were 
in  print,  and  ferreted  out  the  opinions  that  were  to 
become  current  the  week  after  next. 

Furthermore, — and  in  popularizing  the  "Rag"  this 
was  most  important, — Ames  had  developed  under  pres- 
sure the  gift  of  being  extremely  funny.  When  anything 
out-of-the-way  took  place  at  Washington,  the  enlightened 
few  rushed  to  see  what  Bicknell  had  found  to  say  on  the 
subject.  He  had  a  dry,  sly  vein  of  humor  which  crept 
upon  its  victim  from  the  north-northwest,  and  shredded 
him  to  bits.  It  might  be  exasperating,  but  it  was  unfor- 
gettable ;  and  often  in  this,  the  best  part  of  his  own  work, 
he  hit  by  instinct  upon  the  most  ridiculous  and  vul- 
nerable spot  in  the  enemy's  armor.  He  was  mentioned  at 
the  dinner-tables  where  history  is  made;  he  was  clipped 
and  plagiarized  from  Maine  to  California.  He  was  quoted 
into  the  "Congressional  Record."  He  was  invited  to  speak 
at  banquets,  when  he  dangled  his  eyeglass  infuriatingly  in 


THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS  157 

the  faces  of  labor-leaders  and  capitalists  alike,  both  of 
whom  detested  his  personality,  and  begrudged  him  the 
laughter  they  could  not  withhold. 

The  third  element  of  strength  which  had  supported  the 
"Red  Rag"  was  the  one  for  which  the  Marriott  blood  was 
responsible,  whether  Mat  or  Eddie  or  both.  From  them 
came  the  moral  seriousness  of  tone  which  satisfied  the 
earnest,  and  gave  the  magazine  the  hold  it  undoubtedly 
had  upon  the  proletariat.  The  laboring-man  was  apt  to 
skim  over  Bicknell's  funny  editorials  as  negligible, — per- 
haps absorbing  the  italicized  epigrams  with  which  they 
were  sprinkled, — but  he  turned  to  the  middle  sheet,  where 
there  was  generally  a  raw  crayon-sketch  by  Edgar  Mar- 
riott, Jr.,  strong  and  heart-breakingly  poignant.  Mat 
went  to  the  scenes  of  strikes,  and  wrote  bigoted  articles 
which  made  blood  boil.  When  there  were  no  strikes  he 
wrote  poetry  after  the  manner  of  Kipling,  or  compiled 
strings  of  unanswerable  and  upsetting  questions  which 
pressed  close  upon  the  ultimate  riddles  of  destiny.  War 
was  one  of  his  favorite  chimeras,  and  he  combated  it  down 
the  reaches  of  history  upon  lines  of  research  peculiar  to 
himself,  and  most  vexing  to  professors  and  historians.  It 
was  a  dull  day  for  Mat  when  he  was  not  conducting  two 
or  three  venomous  correspondences  in  his  own  columns  or 
those  of  the  public  press,  in  defense  of  his  positions. 

From  the  Marriott  cousins  came  the  spirit  of  devotion 
which  pervaded  the  staff,  which  kept  salaries  low  and  hours 
voluntarily  long,  and  which  convinced  the  workers  that 
they  had  a  mission,  and  that  the  world  would  be  the  loser 
if  the  "Red  Rag"  should  suspend  publication. 

So  much  for  the  general  situation,  which,  except  by 
Amy,  Tolman,  and  others  of  their  type,  was  conceded  to 
be  triumphant.  Mat  had  lived  between  Chicago  and  New 
York,  and  when  in  Chicago  had  built  a  wall  of  reserve 
between  himself  and  the  disapproval  of  his  family.  Amy 
had  not,  indeed,  reconciled  herself  to  the  iniquities  of  her 


158  THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS 

offspring,  but  she  had  been  reduced  to  confining  her  pro- 
tests to  prayer.  Edgar  had  always  made  him  welcome, 
and  he  had  established  headquarters  at  the  Michigan  Ave- 
nue house,  where  he  and  Eddie  sat  up  till  two  in  the 
morning  over  their  discussions. 

But  a  change  had  been  coming  over  Mat,  which  made 
Eddie  fret  and  Edgar  frown.  He  who  had  affected  shoddy 
tweed  suits  and  soft  hats,  who  had  ridden  in  day-coaches 
and  smoked  a  clay  pipe,  who  had  scoffed  in  the  very 
pages  of  the  magazine  at  Ames  and  his  eyeglass  and  his 
banquets, — he,  Mat,  was  convicted  of  the  purchase  of  a 
twelve-dollar  silk  hat,  and  was  heard  inquiring  of  Amy 
whether  the  moths  had  devoured  the  dress-suit  he  bought 
in  college.  Amy  being  a  New  England  housewife,  no  ques- 
tion could  have  been  a  greater  insult:  she  produced  the 
horrid  thing  out  of  a  pillow-case,  and  he  sent  it  to  be 
pressed. 

He  began  carrying  a  walking-stick  on  Sundays.  One 
morning  he  appeared  at  the  office  in  spats,  and  the  office- 
boy  laughed  so  hard  that  he  choked  and  had  to  be  slapped 
between  the  shoulders. 

"Diantha,  do  you  know  what's  come  over  Mat?"  Edgar 
asked,  when  she  came  to  take  his  orders  for  Christmas 
shopping. 

"Cousin  Edgar,  why  do  you  ask  me?  We  don't  see 
him  at  home  two  meals  a  week.  We  always  suppose  he's 
over  here  with  you  and  Eddie." 

"He  breakfasts  here  pretty  consistently  when  he's  in 
town,  but  we  haven't  seen  much  of  him  in  the  evenings. 
He  goes  out  with  a  white  silk  muffler  over  his  shirt-front, 
and  comes  in  at  one-thirty." 

"Where  do  you  suppose  he  got  that  muffler?" 

"There  are  plenty  of  places  to  get  mufflers.  A  more 
important  question  is  why  he  got  it." 

"Who  in  the  world,"  asked  Daisy,  looking  up  from  her 
morning  paper, — "who  in  the  world  are  the  Lewiston 


THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS  159 

Leverings?  Miss  Dulany,  would  you  mind  looking  them 
up  in  the  Social  Register  if  you  have  it  handy?  I'd  like 
to  know  who  she  was." 

"They  don't  seem  to  be  here,  Mrs.  Marriott." 

"Josie,  have  you  ever  run  across  the  Lewiston  Lever- 
ings?  I  see  about  them  in  the  society  column  two  or 
three  times  a  week." 

"What  does  it  matter,  Mother?  There  are  plenty  of 
people  in  Chicago  we  don't  know.  What  have  they  done?" 

"  'Among  the  smart  parties  seen  dancing  after  the 
theater  at  the  Lilac  Terrace  were  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Lewiston 
Levering  with  the  Neddy  Dunbars,  Miss  Claudine  Chesbro, 
and  Mr.  Marriott  Powell.'  " 

"I'll  call  up  Mat  and  ask  him.  They  can't  be  so  very 
smart,  or  they  wouldn't  let  Mat  come  to  the  table  with 
them:  he's  just  as  likely  to  eat  with  his  knife.  But  I'll 
ask  him  .  .  ."  and  Josie  moved  solicitously  toward  the 
telephone,  one  eye  on  her  mother. 

"Josephine!  Sit  right  down!  You  know  your  father 
has  forbidden  you  to  speak  to  Mat  Powell." 

"Well,  Mother,  he  can't  seriously  mean  that,  it's  so 
medieval !  Goodness  knows  I  don't  care  about  talking  to 
Mat ;  he's  repulsive :  the  only  reason  I'm  nice  to  any  of 
the  Powells  is  because  Father  would  skin  me  if  I  weren't. 
But  I  assure  you  I  don't  want  to  speak  to  him."  And 
she  sat  herself  down  on  the  chaise-longue  with  a  bounce 
and  a  billow  of  petticoats. 

"Would  you  like  a  piece  about  the  Cubists?" 

"There's  been  a  good  deal  about  the  Cubists,  Mat.  Who 
wants  to  write  it, — Eddie?" 

"I  want  to  write  it  myself." 

"You  don't  know  the  first  thing  about  Art !" 

"I  have  means  of  finding  out,  Ames  ...  I  have  a  lady 
friend  who  has  been  telling  me  a  lot  about  Art." 

"I  thought  you  were  going  out  on  that  stock-yards 
story?" 


160  THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS 

"Well,  I  have  a  date  for  this  afternoon  to  look  at  some 
privately  owned  Cubist  pictures;  and  I  thought  I'd  kill 
two  birds  with  one  stone  and  write  them  up." 

"You  can  write  it  if  you  like,  but  I  won't  run  it  unless 
it's  unusually  funny ;  because  if  you  tried  to  write  seri- 
ously about  pictures  you'd  make  us  a  laughing-stock.  If 
you  must  write  about  Cubism,  write  something  awfully 
nai've." 

"I'll  bet  you  I  know  more  about  Cubism  this  minute  than 
you  do,  old  arbiter  elegantiarum !" 

"It  wouldn't  be  difficult  .  .  .  Don't  tell  me  you've  had 
a  hair  cut!" 

"It's  handier,"  said  Mat,  blushing. 

"Well,  suit  yourself.  Only  it  gives  your  head  that 
nasty,  slippery  eggy  look,  especially  when  the  man  gets 
you  all  over  Ed.  Pinaud's  Extract." 

"That's  a  matter  of  opinion.  At  any  rate  I'm  not 
getting  prematurely  bald,"  and  Mat  swung  out  of  the 
editorial  sanctum,  after  one  last  smoothing  of  his  cur- 
tailed locks. 


in 

"!T  doesn't  seem  possible  a  man  can  be  as  sincere  as  you 
say  you  are,"  murmured  Claudine.  "Sugar?" 

"Nobody  ever  accused  you  of  being  sincere,"  retorted 
Mat.  "I'll  put  my  own  cream  in.  Now  did  they?" 

Claudine  swept  her  eyelashes  all  the  way  up,  then  all 
the  way  down :  smiled  ever  so  little :  and  touched  his  thumb 
with  the  tip  of  her  finger  as  she  gave  him  the  tea-cup.  The 
cup  immediately  crashed  to  the  floor. 

"Damn!"  said  Claudine,  without  emphasis.  "You 
shan't  have  another.  That's  one  of  the  dishes  Eve  brought 
from  China,  and  if  it  isn't  priceless  she  told  me  a  lie  about 
it  ...  Let  it  trickle  around:  it  will  soon  evaporate,  and 
Maria  will  carry  away  the  bits  after  you  leave." 

"I'm  frightfully  ashamed.  You  tell  Eve  so;  I  shan't 
dare  face  her  .  .  .  But  you  didn't  answer  my  question: 
are  you  ever  sincere?" 

"I  don't  talk  about  the  things  that  are  real  to  me;  I 
—I'm  afraid." 

"You  afraid?    Of  what?" 

There  was  a  silence  before  she  answered  with  simplicity. 

"I  am  afraid  of  love."  He  was  left  staring  into  her 
eyes,  while  his  heart  thumped. 

"Oh,  it's  too  easy;  you  tempt  me,"  she  cried  suddenly, 
and  laughed. 

"You  meant  that  just  the  same,"  he  replied,  unmoved 
by  her  change  of  tone. 

"I  never  mean  anything  seriously;  you  said  so  your- 
self." 

"I'm  writing  a  novel  about  you,"  he  said  irrelevantly. 

"Oh!    You  think  you  know  me  so  well?" 
161 


162  THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS 

"I  intend  to  find  out  everything  about  you." 

"What  are  you  calling  it?" 

"'My  Witch-Girl'!" 

"You  darling!" 

"But  I'll  never  let  you  read  it." 

"Oh,  yes,  you  will  .  .  .  Don't  let  your  researches  into 
my  deep  nature  keep  you  from  your  regular  work." 

"Botheration !  That  reminds  me  you  never  took  me  to 
see  the  Cubists,  and  I  was  to  write  an  article  about  them 
this  evening." 

"Never  you  mind ;  this  little  tea-party  was  much  more 
important.  I'll  write  you  as  much  as  you  like  about  the 
Cubists,  better  than  you  could  do  it,  and  let  you  have  it 
to-morrow  morning." 

Mat  was  still  a  little  jealous  of  intrusion  into  the  be- 
loved "Rag."  "Don't,"  he  said.  "I'll  write  something 
else." 

"Oh,  but  I'd  like  to.  Do  you  suppose  the  high  and 
mighty  Mr.  Bicknell  would  print  it?" 

"I'd  break  his  silly  head  open  if  he  didn't : — but  that's 
not  interesting  ...  I  want  you  to  tell  me  why  you're 
afraid." 

"Love  is  horrid,"  said  Claudine.  She  had  a  voice  with 
a  deep,  harrowing  break  in  it,  which  stirred  all  the  roman- 
tic yearnings  of  Mat's  nature. 

It  will  be  remembered  that  at  an  early  age  he  had  been 
in  love  with  Mrs.  Gurney;  and  although  this  chronicle  has 
of  necessity  passed  over  certain  periods  of  time,  Mat's 
heart  had  continued  to  beat,  and  while  it  beat  it  was  cer- 
tain to  be  more  or  less  at  the  disposal  of  some  goddess. 
Edgar  was  wont  to  refer  to  Mat's  "sentimental  journeys 
from  Unsuitable  to  Impossible."  Most  of  his  loves  were 
between  five  and  twenty  years  his  seniors,  and  few  of 
them  talked  English,  in  the  stricter  sense  of  the  term.  A 
personal  acquaintance  was  immaterial ;  for  two  months  he 
collected  photographs  of  Theda  Bara,  and  pursued  her 
image  from  cinema  to  cinema. 


THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS  163 

But  Mat  never  told,  and  even  Edgar  would  have  been 
surprised  to  learn,  how  much  more  warmly  he  talked  about 
his  loves  than  directly  to  them.  He  adopted  a  witty, 
worldly  tone  in  speaking  of  the  opposite  sex,  which  con- 
cealed the  fact  that  in  a  tete-a-tete  he  was  consumed  with 
embarrassment.  Girls,  in  so  far  as  they  differed  from 
Diantha,  were  complete  mysteries  to  him,  and  wherein 
they  resembled  her,  he  found  them  lacking  in  piquancy. 
On  a  few  occasions  his  enthusiasm  had  carried  him  into 
positive  courtship ;  but  they  had  been  odd,  unsatisfactory 
scenes  ending  in  sarcasm  and  snubbings,  and  far  down 
in  his  soul  he  carried  the  mortifying  belief  that  he  was 
destined  never  to  be  loved. 

Claudine  represented  the  upward  swing  of  the  wheel 
from  its  nadir.  Claudine  found  him  interesting, — his 
aspect,  his  opinions,  his  future,  did  not  tell  him  so, 
explicitly  and  tacitly,  dozens  of  times  a  day?  Did  she 
not  make  it  easy  for  him  to  see  her,  carrying  him  along 
from  one  engagement  to  another?  Was  she  not  easy  to 
talk  to,  easy  to  become  intimate  with,  in  a  way  which  sug- 
gested that  their  natures  had  mystic  affinity?  Did  she 
not  voluntarily  confide  to  him  her  thoughts  on  that  most 
sacred  of  themes, — on  Love? 

"All  these  years " 

ran  an  anonymous  poem  in  that  month's   "Rag,"  con- 
ceived with  extreme  technical  fredom, — 

"All  these  years 

I  have  gone  mad  in  dreams 

At  the  odor  of  jasmine. 

I  asked  in  the  shops,  describing 

(Inadequately,  I  concede). 

'Ah,'  they  told  me,  'You  require 

Attar  of  roses !' 

"I  bought  their  horrid  attar, 

Extracted  from  roses. 

Prickly,  stout-stemmed,  unimaginative 

Objects.— 

And  was  disappointed  in  my  own  capacity 


164  THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS 

In  that  the  madness  withheld 
Its  potency 

"But  now,  now, 

I  have  found  the  intoxicant  wild  sweetness 

So  long,  so  thirstily  craved. 

The  perfume  that  drives  deliciously  mad 

— Listen,  fools — 

Is  true  jasmine  .  .  . 

"Fore  knowledge  .  .  . 
Of  you    .  .  ." 

"Why  do  you  print  that  rot,  Bicky?"  asked  Garrity, 
turning  up  his  nose  over  a  proof-sheet. 

"I  gotta,"  replied  Bicknell,  crossly.  "But  the  'Rag' 
can't  stand  more  than  about  so  much  of  it.  If  it  comes 
to  the  point  I'll  fight  him  to  a  finish  on  it.  It  isn't  even 
spicy:  it's  just  wish-wash." 

"It  doesn't  rhyme." 

"I  shouldn't  care  so  much  about  that  if  it  were  the  least 
bit  interesting.  What  do  you  and  I  care, — what  does 
anybody  care, — about  Mat's  taste  in  perfumery?" 

Mat's  "witch-girl"  was  not  a  typical  product  of  the 
Middle  West,  though  a  desolating  rumor  had  it  that  she 
came  of  respectable  parents  still  resident  in  Toledo. 
Chicago  was  indebted  for  her  presence  to  the  continued 
hospitality  of  the  Lewiston  Leverings ;  and  the  Lewiston 
Leverings,  evep  if  unknown  to  Daisy  Marriott,  bore  a 
name  not  unfamiliar  to  Tolman  and  his  brother  bankers. 
Levering  had  come  from  Tennessee,  had  made  money  hand 
over  fist  on  the  Stock  Exchange,  and  had  selected  to  help 
him  spend  it  a  wife  from  Eau  Claire,  Wisconsin.  It  so 
happened  that  neither  he  nor  she  had  known  many  Chi- 
cagoans  before  moving  there,  as  he  had  been  educated  at 
the  Sorbonne  and  she  in  an  Eastern  school  which  had  not 
been  in  vogue  in  her  adopted  city;  so  they  had  formed 
such  a  circle  as  was  most  accessible.  Mrs.  Levering  had 
a  highly-cultivated  voice,  and  a  social  instinct;  her  hus- 
band mixed  cocktails  to  admiration,  and  talked  amusingly, 


THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS  165 

with  a  Southern  accent,  "on  any  subject  except  base- 
ball," as  he  admitted. 

It  will  therefore  be  readily  understood  that  after  three 
years'  residence  in  their  Sheridan  Road  apartment,  they 
knew  most  of  the  musical  circle,  a  good  many  newspaper 
critics  and  authors-in-general,  an  assortment  of  young 
married  people  with  plenty  of  money  to  lose  at  bridge; 
they  entertained  visiting  celebrities,  particularly  those  of 
the  stage ;  and  they  were  being  gradually  "discovered"  by 
the  more  advanced  and  inquisitive  of  the  "old  settlers" — 
Eve  Levering's  term.  To  do  them  justice,  they  were  no 
snobs,  and  cared  not  a  whit  whether  they  were  asked  to 
the  Assemblies ;  they  had  kind  hearts,  they  liked  amuse- 
ment, and  they  practiced  no  painful  rigidity  of  conduct. 
They  had  not  as  yet  been  tracked  down  by  the  good 
ladies  who  are  ever  on  the  lookout  for  recruits, — 
auriferous  recruits, — to  charitable  committees;  so  their 
money  was  their  own  to  play  with,  to  spend  on  happy-go- 
lucky  entertaining,  and  to  give  away  as  the  whim  struck 
them,  among  their  pet  geniuses. 

Claudine  had  met  Lewiston  Levering  in  Paris,  while 
studying  something  or  other;  and  Eve  was  thereby  en- 
titled to  calculate  her  age  at  a  minimum  of  thirty-two. 
She  had  acted  a  little,  recited  to  music,  danced  on  people's 
lawns  by  moonlight,  dabbled  in  spiritualism;  and  she  had 
come  to  Chicago  with  an  exhibition  of  her  own  productions 
in  the  then  uncommon  medium  of  batik.  The  designs  were 
so  exotic  one  could  hardly  decide  whether  they  were  dis- 
gusting or  not.  They  had  occasioned  discussion. 

Following  an  invitation  to  stop  over  a  week-end  with 
the  Leverings,  she  had  stayed  with  them  now  some  three 
weeks,  and  Eve  was  little  disposed  to  part  with  her.  She 
added  to  the  Levering  parties  a  touch  of  knowingness 
and  chic  which,  having  once  tasted,  they  could  not  forego. 
Her  personality  and  her  costumes  did  not  permit  her  to 
remain  unnoticed  in  any  company,  and  the  voice  which 
Mat  had  found  morbid,  murmuring,  melancholy  and 


166  THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS 

musical,  was  to  be  distinguished  from  other  voices.  She 
had  money,  and  there  was  nothing  of  the  sycophant  about 
her ;  she  had  likewise  brains ;  and  to  culminate,  she  who 
was  familiar  with  heaven  knows  what  esoteric  coteries  in 
the  great  capitals,  did  not  disdain  the  personalities  to  be 
met  in  an  apartment  on  Sheridan  Road. 

I  am  unable  to  state  why  the  clamor  of  the  great  capi- 
tals for  her  presence  was  so  far  stilled,  during  these  winter 
months,  as  to  permit  her  to  remain  in  farthest  Gaul ; 
possibly  her  statement  that  "love  was  horrid"  was  for 
once  sincere,  and  veiled  some  concrete  damage  to  her  emo- 
tions. One  can  hardly  believe  that  the  fascination  of  Mat 
Powell  and  two  or  three  other  fluttering  moths  was  the 
best  she  could  have  wrung  from  life,  judging  from  the 
standpoint  of  interest.  One  inclines  therefore  to  the  belief 
that  she  was  reposing  herself  upon  their  provincial  sim- 
plicity. 

The  tails  of  Mat's  evening-coat, — be  that  as  it  may, — 
grew  shiny  from  riding  in  taxicabs;  green-gray  orchids 
traveled  in  boxes  to  the  Leverings'  door;  and  Mat's  ex- 
chequer became  very  naturally  depleted.  He  borrowed 
from  Eddie  and  from  Edgar,  on  the  scale  adapted  to  his 
modest  estate.  Worse  than  this,  he  fretted  and  worried 
over  possible  means  of  extracting  larger  profits  from  the 
"Red  Rag." 


IV 

OF  all  this  Amy  knew  only  hints  and  scattered  facts; 
but  to  a  woman  practiced  in  adversity,  straws  are  but  too 
indicative  of  the  wind's  quarter.  And  when  she  chose  to 
turn  her  thoughts  from  her  children,  they  rested  with  little 
satisfaction  on  her  husband. 

As  to  Vesey,  Amy  knew  little  except  that  to  look  at  him 
was  distressing,  and  to  listen  to  him  was  disturbing.  He 
had  now  for  three  years  drawn  his  salary  from  Tolman, 
and  repaid  most  of  it  to  the  same  benefactor.  One  or  two 
"raises"  he  had  received,  but  they  had  served  chiefly  to 
amortize  his  debt  at  a  rate  about  twenty  dollars  a  month 
faster  than  before.  Vesey  was  one  who  took  little  interest 
in  this  long-drawn  restitution  for  the  past,  more  particu- 
larly as  he  was  repaying  eight  thousand  dollars  which 
he  had  lost  almost  before  seeing  it,  and  from  which  he  had 
not  extracted  the  slightest  pleasure.  He  could  not  ob- 
serve that  the  wages  of  virtue  were  any  better  worth 
struggling  after  than  those  of  sin,  monetarily  speaking, 
whereas  the  labor  necessary  to  their  acquisition  was  de- 
cidedly less  entertaining.  The  straight  and  narrow  path 
made  little  appeal.  When  he  left  home  each  morning  he 
pictured  himself  toiling  along  this  path,  in  tight  shoes, 
and  harnessed  by  many  leather  straps  to  a  wagon  in  which 
rode  the  conventionalized  forms  of  Amy,  Mat,  Diantha  and 
Herby,  all  taking  their  ease  and  gazing  at  the  scenery. 

For  the  first  time  in  his  life  Vesey  Powell  had  consis- 
tently gone  on  do'ing  that  which  was  distasteful  to  him, 
and  he  found  his  nature  to  the  last  degree  strained  and 
exasperated.  His  temper  became  uncertain,  and  on  this, 
at  least,  Amy  had  formerly  been  able  to  count  with  some 
167 


168  THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS 

security.  He  stifled  oaths,  he  let  fly  loud  objurgations. 
He  calculated  day  by  day,  hour  by  hour,  the  infinitesimal 
diminution  of  his  debt.  His  familiarity  with  one,  at  least, 
of  Tolman's  companies  had  shown  him  how  little  such  a 
sum  meant  to  a  man  of  Tolman's  vast  resources.  And  yet, 
by  years  of  toil,  he  had  barely  succeeded  in  shuffling  off 
half  his  load. 

Amy  would  sit  behind  the  coffee-pot,  regarding  Vesey 
with  an  anxious  face.  He  had  aged ;  the  hair  was  receding 
up  the  long  incline  of  his  skull,  his  skin  had  fallen  into 
grooves  and  pouches.  His  eyes,  instead  of  sliding  and 
shining,  sidewise,  had  learned  a  trick  of  staring  at  some- 
thing about  on  a  level  with  his  knees.  His  lips  twitched 
when  he  was  irritated;  and  this  was  not  seldom.  He 
looked,  in  a  word,  ill. 

If  Diantha  came  down  late  to  meals,  he  scolded  her.  If 
Mat  was  known  to  be  in  town,  but  elected  to  stay  on 
Michigan  Avenue,  Vesey  reproved  his  audience,  from  which 
of  necessity  the  offender  was  excluded.  It  was  his  sharp- 
ness while  Herby  studied  at  the  living-room  table,  which 
made  Amy  dumb  when  she  would  have  protested  with  the 
boy  against  slipping  out  for  a  game  of  pool. 

"This  can't  last,"  said  Vesey  to  himself,  every  night 
before  he  went  to  sleep. 

"It  can't  last,"  thought  Amy.  But  whereas  he  looked 
forward  to  any  change,  however  little  alluring,  she  dreaded 
variation,  feeling  sure  it  must  be  for  the  worse. 

"Let  sleeping  dogs  lie,"  thought  Amy.  After  all,  two 
years  and  a  half  of  security,  and  solvency  limited  only 
by  an  indeterminate  debt  to  her  own  cousin  Tolman,  was 
more  good  than  she  had  thought  Fate  held  stored  for  her. 

After  bringing  home  a  number  of  unsatisfactory  re- 
ports, Herby  in  January  omitted  to  bring  home  any  at 
all;  but  a  note  by  mail  from  the  principal  intimated  to 
Vesey  that  the  perpetuation  of  the  ties  which  bound  Herby 
and  his  alma  mater  would  cause  needless  pain  to  both, 
inasmuch  as  he  was  learning  nothing,  and  certainly  com- 


THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS  169 

ing  to  no  good  by  idling  about  the  streets  after  school- 
hours. 

"I'll  lick  the  hide  off  him,"  exclaimed  his  father.  "He's 
stupid,  and  he's  bad.  He'll  never  be  a  credit  to  you, 
Amy." 

"He's  been  as  good  as  gold  till  this  year,"  his  wife  made 
answer,  trembling.  "This  isn't  the  time  to  scold  him  and 
torment  him;  we  ought  to  help  him  through." 

"I  don't  believe  in  it ;  he's  not  worth  the  trouble.  Not 
an  ounce  of  brains,  except  for  getting  into  mischief." 

Amy's  lips  opened,  but  closed  on  some  sharp  words  un- 
spoken. "There  are  other  people  who  aren't  particularly 
worth  while,"  she  might  have  said,  "who  are  glad  enough 
to  have  me  stand  by  them."  But  it  must  be  explained  that 
Vesey  had  been  so  long  cut  off  from  vagary  and  adventure 
that  he  looked  upon  himself  as  a  typical  paterfamilias, 
and  along  with  the  sterling  qualities  of  the  type,  con- 
sidered himself  entitled  to  a  modicum  of  the  traditional 
irascibility. 

"Turn  him  out,  and  make  him  hustle  for  himself,"  said 
Vesey,  "if  he's  determined  not  to  profit  by  the  advan- 
tages of  a  good  education." 

Mat  recommended,  with  an  eye  to  Herby's  mechanical 
bent,  a  technical  college,  and  the  plan  approved  itself  to 
Amy  and  Diantha.  Amy  saw  her  youngest  an  engineer, 
tunneling  the  Andes  and  bridging  the  Congo. 

But  when  Herbert  walked  sullenly  into  the  dining-room 
and  sat  down  to  his  supper,  the  discussion  did  not  run 
according  to  schedule.  To  begin  with,  there  was  a  furrow 
in  the  boy's  brow,  and  a  set  to  his  jaw,  which  warned  of 
inward  wrath;  and  his  boots  clumped  ominously. 

"You'd  better  see  this,  my  boy,"  said  his  father,  inter- 
rupting himself  in  the  service  of  creamed  chipped  beef 
long  enough  to  toss  over  McDougald's  letter. 

"He  told  me  he  was  writing  you.  I  didn't  go  to  his 
rotten  school  to-day,  I  wouldn't  go  near  it  if  he  paid 


170  THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS 

"He's  not  likely  to  do  that ;  you're  fired,  straight  and 
plain." 

Herby  took  a  gulp  of  water,  and  slammed  his  glass  down 
on  the  table. 

"Tell  us  how  it  came  about,  Herby  dear." — Thus  Amy. 

"They're  darned  sissies ; — sneaks." 

"What  happened?" 

To  abbreviate,  I  will  here  state  that  his  family  never 
did  learn  just  what  had  befallen  Herby  during  his  past 
week  at  school;  even  Diantha  was  given  only  dark  adum- 
brations of  a  plot  which  involved  one  Marcus  Coy,  a 
reptilian  teacher  named  Simmons,  and  the  arch-hypocrite, 
Mr.  McDougald,  Ph.D.  But  as  the  consequences  were 
unusually  free  from  ambiguity,  the  point  was  passed  over 
as  academic. 

"Well,  what's  next  on  your  program?  You're  not  a 
rich  man's  son  like  Eddie;  you  can't  tour  the  Eastern 
boarding-schools  till  you  find  one  that  will  graduate  you. 
You've  missed  your  chance  of  a  college  education  for  good 
and  all,  I'm  afraid  .  .  ." 

"Vesey!  .  .  .  We  had  thought,  Herby,  you  might  go 
to  one  of  the  technical  schools  and  work  toward  an  en- 
gineer's degree." 

"College  education !  Engineer's  degree !  Gosh !  You 
think  I've  got  brains." 

"You  have  plenty  of  brains." 

"I  haven't  got  brains,  and  I  haven't  got  style,"  said 
Herby,  emphasizing  his  views  with  a  knife-handle.  "And 
it's  style  you're  after,  all  of  you.  You  want  me  to  wear 
a  white  collar  every  day  till  I  die,  don't  you?"  Here  he 
looked  menacingly  right  and  left. 

"Most  certainly,"  said  his  father  in  crisp  syllables. 

"Well,  I'll  tell  you  right  now,  I'm  better  off  in  a  flannel 
shirt  and  overalls.  I  never  was  so  well  suited  as  that 
summer  in  the  shop.  I  don't  care  about  this  darned  edu- 
cation and  degrees  and  travel  and  Eastern  accents.  A 
mechanic  makes  money  enough  to  live  better  than  we  do, 


THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS  171 

and  he  knows  better  than  to  wade  out  beyond  his  depth." 
He  jerked  a  vulgar  thumb  toward  the  Lake  Shore  Drive. 

"Herby,  you  needn't  be  rude." 

"You'd  be  rude  if  you'd  been  talking  to  that  blathering 
McDougald.  To  hear  him,  you'd  think  a  fellow  might  as 
well  be  in  hell  as  try  to  get  along  without  a  diploma. 
Well,  look  at  Abraham  Lincoln !  And  George  Washing- 
ton, for  that  matter!" 

"Herby,  you  must  not  use  such  words." 

"I  know  a  lot  worse  ones  than  that,"  muttered  the 
recalcitrant,  privately  to  his  apple  sauce;  and  this  mut- 
tering did  much  to  revive  his  self-esteem. 

"It's  no  use  talking  to  him  this  evening,  he's  as  obstinate 
as  a  mule.  I've  a  good  mind  to  put  him  on  bread  and 
water  for  a  day  or  two  .  .  .  Well,  sir,  what's  your  own 
idea?" 

"I'm  going  back  to  the  shop.  I  want  to  get  to  be  a 
first  class  motor  mechanic,  and  then  I'm  going  to  start 
the  one  and  only  reliable  automobile  repair  shop." 

"Oh,  wo,  Herby." 

"Why  not?  That's  honest,  isn't  it?  And  there's  money 
in  it." 

"It's  not  respectable." 

"Respectable !  Why  isn't  it  just  as  respectable  as 
being  an  office-boy  in  the  bank?" 

"Do  you  want  to  have  Diantha  tell  people  her  brother 
is  a  laboring  man?" 

("Mother,  you  are  silly!") 

"I'd  just  as  soon  be  a  laboring  man  as  sponge  on  my 
cousin's  money,  like  Mat  does.  What  do  you  mean  by 
'laboring  man'?  I'll  join  the  union;  that's  very  aristo- 
cratic." 

"I  suppose  you  won't  be  happy  till  you  go  and  live  in  a 
slum  somewhere,  with  your  fellow  aristocrats." 

"Turn  me  out  whenever  you  want  to;  but  if  you'll 
let  me  wash  off  the  grease  at  the  kitchen  sink,  I'd  rather 
keep  on  living  at  home.  I'm  not  one  of  these  geniuses 


172  THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS 

that's  out  for  experience:  I  just  want  to  be  warm  and 
have  three  square  meals  a  day,  and  draw  my  pay-check 
on  Saturday,  and  smoke  a  pipe  when  I  please.  I'll  pay 
for  my  board,  and  I'll  take  the  family  to  a  movie  once 
a  month." 

This,  in  effect,  was  Herby's  declaration  of  rights,  and 
he  could  not  be  budged  from  his  position  by  tears,  threats 
or  cajolery.  Mat  approved,  shrugging  off  the  responsi- 
bility; Diantha  cared  little,  except  that  her  mother  was 
vexed.  What  grieved  Amy  in  the  arrangement  she  found 
it  difficult  to  express :  honest  toil  is  no  bugbear  to  New 
Englanders ;  but  she  came  of  a  line  of  ministers,  lawyers, 
and  independent  farmers,  and  among  the  degradations 
of  her  marriage  she  had  intensified  her  pride  of  race, — a 
pride  of  self-respecting  petty  gentility.  She  could  not 
reconcile  herself  to  putting  up  Herby's  luncheon  in  the 
tin  pail — which  with  inverted  pride  he  insisted  on  carry- 
ing while  his  fellow  "laboring  men"  regaled  themselves  at 
restaurants  and  saloons.  She  did  not  like  him  in  the 
kitchen  before  supper,  with  his  arms  black  to  the  elbow. 
She  chose  to  find  inconvenient  the  hour  at  which  he  de- 
manded breakfast,  though  no  other  household  arrange- 
ment had  drawn  complaints  from  her. 

"Well,  if  no  other  member  of  my  family  can  graduate 
and  get  a  diploma,  it's  up  to  me,"  thought  Diantha ; 
and  she  shut  herself  off  from  her  enemies  in  school,  by 
"grinding"  at  her  lessons. 


ONE  day  in  February,  when  the  snow  was  dissolving 
into  filthy  puddles,  and  the  eaves  dripped,  she  came  back 
from  school  to  find  her  mother  shivering  beside  the  stove. 
She  was  in  a  fever.  Diantha  put  her  to  bed  and  ad- 
ministered such  remedies  as  were  traditional  in  the  house- 
hold; but  the  temperature  would  not  be  conquered.  It 
was  necessary  to  call  a  doctor,  and  he  made  numerous 
visits.  "The  grippe,"  he  said,  and  looked  for  a  re- 
covery in  a  week.  But  two  weeks,  and  three,  dragged 
by  before  Amy  really  "laid  hold  on  life,"  as  the  hymn 
has  it.  She  had  relaxed  from  her  anxieties,  and  found  a 
luxury  in  lying  supine,  letting  her  family  for  one  breath- 
ing-space manufacture  or  import  its  own  morale,  while 
she  drifted  along  in  weakness. 

Her  family,  during  the  critical  days  of  her  illness, 
rallied  to  the  emergency,  nursed  her  by  turns,  and  filled 
her  place  with  clumsy  good-will  so  that  she  was  little 
missed.  Daisy  sent  over  delicacies  which  she  could  not 
eat,  but  on  which  the  healthy  Powells  regaled  themselves 
whole-heartedly.  Mat  stayed  at  home,  Vesey  and  Herby 
buried  the  hatchet,  Diantha  swam  triumphantly  through 
the  domestic  eddies. 

But  as  weeks  wore  along,  and  she  progressed  no 
further  toward  dressing  and  going  downstairs,  the  velvet 
began  to  wear  thin.  The  boys  returned  more  or  less  to 
their  usual  ways, — Herby  to  loud  noises,  Mat  to  unex- 
plained absences  from  Hickory  Place.  Diantha  had  at- 
tacks of  nerves  and  tears,  sat  up  till  twelve  o'clock  over 
the  books  she  was  forced  to  neglect  by  daylight,  and  de- 
veloped headaches. 

173 


174  THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS 

The  doctor  gave  one  of  those  prescriptions  impossible 
of  fulfillment.  ".  ..  .  Nervous  strain  .  .  ."  he  mur- 
mured. "Heart  action  irregular.  .  .  .  Complete  freedom 
from  worry.  .  .  .  Warmer  climate.  .  .  .  Baths  at  Augusta. 
...  I  won't  guarantee  your  mother's  health,  or  even 
her  life,  Miss  Powell,  if  she  goes  on  killing  herself  by 
inches.  She's  a  highly-strung  woman;  she  must  be 
made  to  relax,  shift  responsibility." 

All  this  Diantha  repeated  to  Vesey,  behind  closed 
doors,  her  teeth  chattering  with  fright. 

"My  dear  little  girl  .  .  .  hush,  child.  .  .  .  We  must 
handle  it  some  way.  I'll  take  it  in  hand,  I'll  think  what 
can  be  done.  Perhaps  we  could  all  move  South.  .  .  ." 
Vesey  brightened  at  the  prospect  of  a  legitimate  change. 
"Give  me  to-night  to  think ;  you  and  I  must  work  it  out 
together." 

Diantha  kissed  him  and  dried  her  eyes,  feeling  for  him 
the  same  irrational  fondness  which  Amy  had  retained 
through  twenty-five  years. 

The  following  morning  he  spoke  to  her  seriously  after 
breakfast.  "I  have  a  plan,"  said  he.  "You'll  know  a 
little  later."  And  he  kissed  her  again,  with  a  ceremonial 
solemnity  which  made  her  wonder. 

During  the  afternoon  a  hamper  made  its  appearance, 
filled  with  fruit  and  a  bottle  of  sherry,  likewise  a  quilted 
pink  bed- jacket. 

"Vesey  is  such  a  goose,"  said  Amy,  smiling.  "But 
do  you  know,  Diantha,  I've  given  up  worrying.  Somehow 
I  feel  things  must  straighten  themselves  out;  I've  done 
what  I  can." 

At  six  o'clock  came  a  special  delivery  letter  to 
Diantha. 

"Must  be  away  from  home  to-night  in  pursuance  of 
my  plan,"  it  read.  "Don't  let  mother  worry." 

In  the  morning's  mail  arrived  the  following  extraor- 
dinary document: 


THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS  175 

(No  address) 
"My  darling  Amy: 

"I  have  thought  it  all  out,  and  decided  that  what 
hampers  you  and  the  children  is  my  presence.  Without 
me,  your  character,  your  connections,  your  charm, 
would  have  made  life  easy  for  you;  and  in  spite  of  what 
you  have  been  to  me  all  these  years,  for  your  sake  I 
would  to  God  I  had  never  met  you. 

"Before  your  illness  you  must  have  realized,  as  I  did, 
that  the  present  situation  was  impossible.  I  was  break- 
ing under  the  strain  of  a  bondage  worse  than  slavery, 
and  the  future  must  have  terrified  you. 

"My  duty  is  clear  to  me.  I  must  release  you  from 
the  drag  of  my  presence.  You  need  not  scruple  to 
accept  for  yourself  and  your  children  the  help  from  your 
kinsfolk  which  your  delicate  sense  of  honor  forbade  your 
soliciting  for  me.  It  may  seem  hard  in  me,  but  it  is  the 
door  to  comfort  for  you,  and  to  those  luxuries  which  mean 
more  than  necessities.  Do  not  fear  but  that  I  can  take 
care  of  myself.  The  past  two  years  and  seven  months 
have  proved  my  business  capacity  and  my  persistence 
under  obstacles.  And  do  not  fear,  my  darling,  lest  I 
should  make  way  with  myself;  even  if  life  were  value- 
less to  me,  I  love  you  too  dearly  to  cause  you  that  pain. 

"For  you  have  loved  me,  unworthy  as  I  have  been. 
Your  love  has  been  my  beacon,  and  will  always  be,  and 
I  shall  look  forward  to  no  other  happiness  than  rejoin- 
ing you  when  and  where  it  may  be  expedient;  but  for 
your  sake  I  am  taking  this  step  of  publicly  dissociating 
our  fates.  I  am  writing  Tolman  to  this  effect. 

"Do  not  seek  to  keep  in  touch  with  me.  I  shall  watch 
over  your  welfare,  but  you  will  not  be  able  to  communi- 
cate with  me,  as  I  shall  be  hundreds  of  miles  from  you, 
and  I  shall  even  leave  my  own  name  behind  me. 

"With  your  wonderful  deep  sympathy  you  will  realize 
I  am  doing  this  for  the  best.  But  how  it  hurts ! 


176  THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS 

"Give  my  love  to  the  precious  children,  and  tell  them 
not  to  hang  their  heads  at  the  name  of  their  father, 
however  the  world  may  judge. 

"My  adored  wife,  I  can  write  no  more.     Good-by !" 

After  reading  her  letter,  Amy  fell  white-lipped  against 
her  pillows.  It  was  an  ignominious  end  to  her  fight, — 
this  commonplace  desertion  in  time  of  sickness.  Dur- 
ing the  morning  tears  crept  continually  down  her  cheeks. 
Diantha  must  read  the  letter  some  time,  but  she  hid  it  from 
her  as  long  as  possible. 

At  lunch-time  Tolman  appeared,  in  a  fury.  He  was 
admitted  under  protest  to  the  sick-room,  and  cautioned 
not  to  excite  the  patient.  His  rage  was,  indeed,  strangled 
on  his  lips  when  he  saw  the  beaten  woman  lying  in  her 
bed,  age  printed  on  her  features  and  weakness  in  her 
attitude. 

"I  suppose  you've  heard  from  Vesey,"  he  began. 

She  drew  the  letter  from  under  her  pillow,  and  handed 
it  to  him,  her  eyes  closed.  He  ran  through  it. 

"Hm !"  he  said.  "The  lure  of  the  open  road."  Then 
he  was  silent,  tapping  with  his  glasses  against  the  en- 
velope. 

"Now  you  can  divorce  him,  Amy,"  he  finally  said.  "In 
a  year,  or  two  years,  or  whatever  length  of  time  it  is. 
Of  course  I'll  see  you  through  till  the  children  are  on 
their  own  feet."  (The  thought  of  Mat  was  still  bitter 
to  him,  and  he  often  prayed  that  the  vicious  "Red  Rag" 
might  fail,  and  bring  the  young  jackanapes  to  reason.) 

He  looked  at  Amy.  She  had  not  spoken,  and  her  eyes 
were  still  closed;  but  her  lips  were  shut,  and  she  was 
shaking  her  head  slowly  from  side  to  side. 

"You've  got  to,  for  your  own  sake  and  the  children's. 
He's  through  with  you ;  he's  off  skylarking  in  stocks  and 
bonds  again.  I  don't  want  to  hurt  you,  but  I  want  you 
to  appreciate  his  quality: — he  wrote  me  he  had  taken 
the  liberty  of — of  charging  to  my  account  a  basket  of 


THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS  177 

fruit,  a  dressing-gown,  and  a  subscription  to  the  'Tribune.' 
You  know,  I  could  have  him  jailed  for  that."  The  brows 
of  the  silent  face  contracted  in  pain.  Repentant,  Tol- 
man  patted  her  arm.  "I'm  a  brute,  my  dear.  But  the 
sooner  you're  rid  of  him  the  better." 

"Don't  argue  with  me,  Tolman,"  she  said,  in  the  faint- 
est of  voices.  "I  don't  feel  I  can  argue,  but  I  know  I'll 
never  divorce  Vesey."  And  into  those  few  faint  words 
she  put  such  finality  that  he  had  no  more  to  say. 

"Would  you  take  him  back,  then?" 

She  nodded. 

"Would  you  like  him  back  now?  I  can  find  him  in  no 
time,  if  you  say  the  word.  .  .  .  Detectives  .  .  ." 

"Don't  bother,"  came  the  clear,  pale  voice.  "He'll 
come  back.  .  .  .  He'll  get  himself  into  trouble.  .  .  .  He's 
very  fond  of  me.  .  .  .  You'll  see,  he'll  be  back  soon  .  .  ." 

"She's  irrational.  She  makes  me  cross." 
Tolman  was  permitted,  in  Daisy's  boudoir,  to  put  his 
feet  up  on  the  seat  of  a  chair;  and  thus  extended,  he  was 
enjoying  his  cigar  after  a  tete-a-tete  dinner  with  his  wife, 
To  an  observer  there  would  have  been  something  touching 
in  Daisy's  aspect, — in  the  trace  of  her  girlish  manner 
which  remained  when  she  laid  aside  her  trappings  of 
majesty.  The  Daisy  Pellew  with  whom  Tolman  had 
fallen  in  love  had  not  been  forty-nine  years  of  age,  she 
had  never  paid  twenty-five  dollars  for  a  pair  of  shoes, 
nor  had  she  experienced  the  doubtful  blessings  of 
facial  massage;  she  had  not  imagined  the  existence  of 
four  grown  children  and  an  art  gallery,  she  had  not 
studied  bridge.  It  was  this  Daisy  Pellew,  out  of  the 
irrevocable  past,  w5ho  always  tried  to  come  back  to 
dinner  with  Tolman.  He  was  too  well-acquainted  with 
her  to  be  touched,  but  he  was  pleased,  and  that  was  the 
next  best  thing.  So  while  she  ruined  her  eyes  over  a 
piece  of  petit  point,  he  smoked  and  regarded  her  benignly, 
and  talked  to  her  about  the  Powells. 


178  THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS 

"She  makes  me  cross,"  said  Tolman,  then. 

"I  think  she's  rather  fine.  It's  the  sort  of  thing  you 
read  about." 

"Well,  any  good  woman  would  stick  by  her  husband 
through  ordinary  bad  luck;  but  he's  shown  himself  un- 
principled time  after  time,  and  now  he's  dropped  her 
completely." 

She  rocked  back  and  forth,  and  thanked  God  that  the 
lines  had  fallen  to  her  in  pleasant  places. 

"In  a  way  it's  more  responsibility  for  you,  having  her 
entirely  on  your  hands." 

"I've  generally  regarded  Vesey  as  a  liability  rather 
than  an  asset.  The  responsibility  doesn't  matter.  Amy's 
a  splendid  mother,  and  she  does  her  own  disciplining." 

"Of  course  there's  the  money." 

"Really,  you  know,  Daisy,  they're  no  great  luxury. 
I  believe  the  whole  family  didn't  cost  me  a  cent  more  last 
year  than  Fan's  new  roadster  did.  I  can  carry  that  part 
without  feeling  it,  and  the  two  boys  are  at  work  now." 

"Yes,  but  do  you  think  it's  a  goocl  thing  for  them  to 
let  their  mother  and  sister  lie  back  on  your  money  ?" 

"I  don't  know  that  I  approve  of  the  principle;  but,  by 
George,  when  it  comes  to  a  question  of  sweet  old  Amy 
pulling  in  her  belt  another  notch,  while  I  sit  just  around 
the  corner  smoking  fifty-cent  cigars, — principles  can  go 
hang.  She's  not  a  United  Charities  case ;  she's  my  cousin, 
and  I'm  fond  of  her." 

"I  don't  mind  the  money  specially,"  said  Daisy,  "be- 
cause I  know  you're  glad  to  spare  it,  and  I'm  glad  you're 
in  a  position  to  be  so  generous.  But  there  are  little 
things  that  grate  on  me, — I  mean  when  they  take  their 
benefits  for  granted.  I  love  to  send  them  things,  but  I 
hate  to  have  them  count  on  me  for  the  Thanksgiving 
turkey, — do  you  understand?  Of  course  Vesey  was  the 
worst,  but  I  don't  think  Amy  is  backward  about  it." 

"Diantha's   proud  enough.      She  took  her   Christmas 


THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS  179 

gold-piece  as  if  it  burnt  her  fingers;  positively  made  a 
face  at  it." 

Daisy  said  nothing.  Diantha  was  not  a  favorite  of 
hers. 

"That  was  a  pretty  dress  you  gave  her;  she  was  a 
regular  picture.  I  think  she's  prettier  than  her  mother 
was,  but  she  hasn't  a  scrap  of  Amy's  high  spirits.  I 
wish  you  could  have  seen  Amy  at  twenty;  by  George,  she 
was  positively  fascinating.  I  hate  to  look  at  her  these 
days,  she's  got  so  sad  and  spiritless  and  old." 

"You  forget  we  all  grow  old,  Tolman." 

"Not  that  way:  you  don't  change  in  your  looks,  and 
you  don't  lose  your  vitality.  Anybody  that  you  went  to 
school  with  would  recognize  you  on  the  street  to-day. 
Amy's  been  regularly  ground  between  the  millstones." 

"Does  she  plan  to  go  away?" 

"No,  she  won't  do  it.  I  tried  my  best.  I  think  she 
has  a  superstitious  feeling  that  she  must  be  there,  in  her 
own  place,  when  Vesey  comes  back.  And  she  doesn't  want 
to  add  to  her  debt, — which  she  keeps  strict  account  of, 
you  know,  and  plans  to  pay  off  some  time,  out  of  some 
non-existent  fund  or  other.  I've  insisted  on  their  getting 
a  maid,  so  Diantha  can  finish  up  her  school  year;  she 
looks  badly." 

"She's  a  scrawny,  delicate  sort  of  girl."  To  every- 
one her  taste;  and  Daisy  could  not  but  consider  that 
there  was  a  superiority  in  the  physical  type  of  herself 
and  her  broad-shouldered  daughters. 


VI 

IF  Josie's  party  had  no  other  result,  beyond  a  number 
of  reciprocal  invitations,  it  at  least  served  to  dislodge 
Edgar  Marriott  from  his  Michigan  Avenue  fastness ;  and 
one  experience  of  society — "and  that  band !" — convinced 
him  that  he  had  been  coddling  his  nervous  system  un- 
necessarily. Sustained  work  was  beyond  him,  but  inter- 
course and  movement  were  not. 

"I  shall  end  my  days  as  a  butterfly  bachelor,"  he  said 
grimly,  to  a  white  tie  he  was  adjusting. 

He  was  made  welcome  among  his  old  circle.  He  bought 
an  electric,  and  engaged  a  discreetly  liveried  dusky 
brother  to  drive  him  about, — crossing  the  Rush  Street 
bridge  several  times  a  day.  Josie  claimed  the  credit  of 
this  social  resurrection,  and  gained  some  fame  for  herself 
thereby. 

This  was  a  temporary  phase.  Edgar  was  not  the  man 
to  continue  believing  in  himself  while  his  activity  was 
limited  to  intellectual  dinners,  and  luncheons  with  visit- 
ing lions.  And  when  spring  came,  he  exploded  a  bomb. 

In  the  meantime,  the  two  families  pursued  their  course, 
Hickory  Place  maintaining  itself,  without  relish,  on  a 
supply  of  Tolman's  checks  and  Daisy's  old  clothes.  Josie, 
now  known  to  the  press  as  Miss  Josephine  Marriott,  and 
to  her  circle  as  "Jo,"  had  been  twice  reported  engaged, 
but  on  insufficient  evidence. 

Herby  continued  to  carry  a  dinner-pail,  and  Mat  to 
haunt  Claudine.  Her  writings  now  appeared  with  some 
frequency  in  the  "Rag,"  and  Ames,  who  knew  cleverness 
when  he  met  it,  offered  no  protest.  "But  there  is  a 
miasma  hanging  over  her  work,  don't  you  think?  Sort 
180 


THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS  181 

of  scummy?  Does  she  believe  in  anything?  I  think  she's 
a  devil-woman,  and  has  bewitched  him." 

In  spite  of  catastrophe,  Amy  mended  gradually,  and 
the  little  house  ran  well  enough  with  one  tlulda  Olsen 
at  the  helm.  Diantha  worked  desperately  at  her  lessons, 
developed  insomnia,  and  passed  her  final  examinations  on 
her  raw  nerves ;  but  she  had  no  pleasure  in  walking  up 
for  her  diploma.  After  the  graduation  exercises  she  came 
home  and  threw  herself  on  her  own  bed,  where  she  lay 
without  undressing,  all  night.  She  had  finished  a  hate- 
ful period  in  her  life,  finished  it  in  spite  of  obstacles ;  but 
it  was  never  to  be  remembered  from  that  day  forth. 

A  week  later,  Edgar  was  dining  at  Tolman's.  It  was 
a  delicious  June  evening;  pink  clouds  hung  in  the  sky, 
and  the  air  blew  off  the  lake. 

"Yes,  I'm  leaving  Miss  Dulany  to  shut  up  the  house," 
Daisy  told  her  brother-in-law.  "We're  all  going  down 
to  Cambridge  for  Fan's  Commencement,  and  then  we'll 
see  him  off  for  Europe  before  we  go  to  Southampton." 

"Ah !  So  Fanning's  off  for  Europe,"  exclaimed  Edgar 
(who  had  already  surmised  as  much). 

"Yes,  it's  a  pity  you  won't  see  him  this  summer;  he 
did  so  enjoy  his  visits  to  Redgate." 

"I  may  see  him." 

"Oh,  Edgar!  You  don't  mean  you'll  go  down  to 
Boston  with  us !  That  would  be  perfect." 

"No,  thanks.  I  can't  get  away  before  the  end  of  the 
month.  But  I'm  planning  to  start  for  Europe  myself." 

"Edgar!  .  .  .  Tolman,  do  you  hear  that?  Our  anchor- 
ite is  going  to  Europe." 

General  surprise  was  expressed. 

"Alone?" 

"I'm  taking  a  secretary.  I  mean  to  do  a  little  writing, 
if  the  spirit  moves  me." 

"Where  are  you  going?  When  do  you  sail?  How  long 
are  you  to  be  gone?  Where  did  you  find  the  secretary?" 

"The  secretary  is  a  nice,  well-educated  young  girl." 


182  THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS 

There  was  an  awkward  silence.  Either  Edgar  was 
joking,  or  he  was  contemplating  marriage,  or  else  he  had 
said  something  better  left  unsaid. 

"What's  her  name,  Uncle  Edgar?"  Josie  broke  the 
ice. 

"Miss  Diantha  Pow " 

"Uncle,  you  scoundrel!  We  all  thought  you  had  a 
bride." 

"I  haven't  provided  a  bride,  but  there  is  a  chaperon.'* 

"Amy?" 

"Yes." 

"How  did  you  ever  persuade  Amy  to  leave  home?" 

"I  told  her  she  had  no  right  to  deprive  Di  of  this 
opportunity." 

"That's  a  lovely  idea,"  said  Tolman,  heartily.  "And 
you  won't  regret  it.  Those  two  are  as  good  company 
as  any  man  needs  to  ask  for." 

Edgar  could  see  that  Daisy's  soul  was  vexed.  "Where 
are  you  going  to  make  your  headquarters?"  she  inquired 
abruptly. 

"Some  nice  little  place  in  France  or  Switzerland.  Will 
Fanning  be  along  that  way?" 

"I  don't  believe  so;  no,  I  doubt  it.  They're  going 
to  travel  rapidly  through  the  principal  cities." 

"Who's  'they'?" 

"Three  other  boys.  That  Quinny  Babcock  that  visited 
him  out  here  with  you,  and  somebody  Grey  from  New 
York,  and  another  boy  from  Memphis,  named  Devine. 
.  .  .  Splendid  chaps,  all  of  them." 

"Is  Di  really  going  to  be  your  secretary,  Uncle?" 

"I've  acquired  one  of  those  little  collapsible  typewriters, 
and  she's  going  to  work  up  a  dazzling  rate  of  speed 
on  it." 

"How  about  shorthand?" 

"Oh,  we'll  manage." 

"Edgar,"  said  Daisy,  in  a  lower  tone,  "I'm  the  last 


THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS  183 

person  to  interfere  with  a  generous  action ;  but  don't  you 
think  it's  rather  hard  on  Di  to  spoil  her  like  this,  and 
accustom  her  to  luxury  she  can't  have?" 

"Well,  Daisy,  Di's  very  likely  to  marry  some  rich 
young  fellow,  and  she  ought  to  know  how  to  spend  money 
gracefully.  But  aside  from  that,  this  is  a  strictly  busi- 
ness proposition.  I  pay  her  a  salary  and  expenses,  and 
she  pays  me  back  the  salary  in  exchange  for  her  mother's 
expenses.  It's  logic  itself.  And  as  for  luxury — well! 
we'll  be  bound  to  live  within  certain  well-defined  limits; 
I'm  not  made  of  money,  you  know,  like  your  fat  husband. 
And  I'm  keeping  up  two  establishments  and  an  artistic 
son.  .  .  .  By  the  way,  he  perpetrated  a  scandal;  he 
went  and  paid  two  thousand  dollars  for  a  little  bit  of 
a  thing  some  chap  told  him  was  a  Tanagra  figurine.  .  .  . 
I  think  my  mother  would  have  had  apoplexy  if  she  had 
seen  him  come  home  with  it." 

It  was  easy  to  conclude  Edgar  would  not  be  moved  by 
her  reasoning;  and  indeed  Daisy  had  never  been  sure  that 
the  intimacy  of  Fanning  and  Diantha,  developing  under 
his  roof,  had  not  been  fostered  by  his  express  countenance. 

She  could,  of  course,  change  her  plans  and  go  with 
Fan  to  Europe;  but  the  modern  parent's  morbid  dread 
of  inflicting  her  company  on  her  offspring  deterred  her. 
Fan's  plans  were  made  to  travel  with  three  men;  one 
mother  would  be  supererogatory.  And  Daisy  had  reason 
to  know  that  a  parent's  presence  is  not  necessarily  a 
guaranty  of  the  children's  discretion.  The  Marriotts, 
mother  and  son,  would  be  forced  to  see  more  of  Edgar 
and  the  Powells  than  would  Fan  alone. 

But  other  channels  of  influence  could  be  opened. 

"I  met  Cora  Jessey  on  the  street  to-day,"  said  Edgar. 
"I  don't  believe  she's  been  back  before  in  ten  years.  She's 
stopping  with  Felice." 

"I  must  have  her  to  luncheon," — and  at  the  moment 
she  spoke,  Daisy  had  half-planned  what  she  meant  to 


184  THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS 

say  to  Cora,  whom  a  benign  Providence  had  thrown  in 
her  way.  Is  it  not  conceded  that  where  nature  provides 
an  ill  she  likewise  furnishes  a  remedy? 

Barely  three  words  were  necessary  to  reach  the  appre- 
hension of  her  astute  and  cosmopolitan  schoolmate.  No 
need  to  expatiate  on  impecunious  cousins  and  designing 
brothers-in-law;  she  said  merely  that  she  wanted  her 
children  to  know  the  children  of  her  old  friends,  and  this 
summer  would  be  a  chance  for  Fanning  to  get  acquainted 
with  Suzette.  Cora  was  quite  aware  that  Daisy's  son 
was  a  more  substantial  and  eligible  match  than  the 
battered  gentry  of  continental  watering-places,  and  Cora 
could  influence  her  niece's  destiny.  It  did  not  lie  within 
Daisy's  plans  that  Fanning  should  necessarily  marry  a 
young  person  who  had  spent  her  second  decade  in  running 
wild  over  Europe  in  the  innocent  manner  incomprehensible 
to  Europeans ;  but  she  flattered  herself  enough  on  the 
knowledge  of  her  boy  to  think  that  Suzette  could  be 
exorcised  when  she  had  served  her  turn. 

And  so  it  occurred  that  when  the  Messrs.  Grey,  Bab- 
cock,  Devine  and  Marriott  stepped  aboard  the  Hamburg- 
American  liner,  they  were  marked  by  a  woman  already 
settled  into  her  deck-chair, — a  gray-haired  woman  of  im- 
peccable finish,  who  spoke  four  languages — including 
English — without  accent,  and  who  had  been  to  school  with 
Daisy  Marriott. 


VII 

"You'D  better  sleep  most  of  the  way  over,"  Edgar 
advised  Diantha.  But  with  the  buoyancy  of  eighteen 
she  had  forgotten  vagrant  father,  high-school  and  in- 
somnia all  together;  she  put  in  sixteen-hour  days  at 
shuffle-board,  dancing  and  ship's  concerts,  and  exercised 
an  ascendancy  over  five  different  college  youths  most  of 
whom  she  never  saw  again  after  the  sad  partings  at  Cher- 
bourg and  Paris. 

Diantha's  charm  vanished  with  her  self-confidence  and 
reappeared  with  it;  and  her  self-confidence  was  more 
than  usually  robust  after  the  voyage.  Every  new  im- 
pression struck  home,  and  registered  itself  in  her  brain; 
her  cheeks  were  perpetually  flushed,  and  her  heart  beat 
as  though  she  lived  at  a  high  altitude.  She  could  not 
keep  her  feet  on  the  pavements.  Even  the  society  of 
two  semi-invalids  was  powerless  to  depress  her,  and  after 
exhausting  them  she  saw  the  sights  of  Paris  alone  or  with 
new-made  acquaintances.  All  Paris  was  American  in 
July,  and  every  American  was  a  potential  friend. 

Acting  under  Edgar's  orders,  she  performed  the  func- 
tions of  a  courier,  and  in  so  doing,  put  some  of  the  breath 
of  life  into  her  high-school  French,  though  she  was  still 
more  familiar  with  "Vhirondelle,"  "I'amour"  and  "le 
crepusctde"  than  with  practical  difference  between 
"soixante-quinze,"  "quatre-vwgt  quinze,"  and  "quatorze" 
But  she  bought  herself  blouses  at  the  Galeries  Lafayette 
and  post-cards  on  the  Rue  de  Rivoli,  pursued  Baedeker's 
three-starred  wonders  in  the  Louvre,  and  yawned  through 
the  tragedies  of  Racine, — feeling  herself  at  every  step 
a  heroine  of  romance. 

185 


186  THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS 

After  the  voyage  Edgar  realized  to  his  chagrin  that 
he  had  overestimated  his  forces.  "I'm  too  strong  for 
a  valetudinarian  and  not  strong  enough  for  a  tourist," 
he  told  himself.  Amy,  for  her  part,  was  over-excited  by 
travel  and  change  of  scene,  and  morning  after  morning 
he  and  she  admitted  over  their  petit-pains  that  they  had 
not  closed  their  eyes. 

After  a  week  of  this,  Edgar  wrote  for  rooms  in 
Grenoble,  which  spot  he  chose  for  three  reasons,  namely 
that  it  had  a  renowned  library,  a  view  of  Mont  Blanc, 
and  a  certain  proximity  to  Chambery,  Geneva,  and  the 
haunts  of  Jean  Jacques  Rousseau,  about  whom  he  was 
planning  a  monograph. 

"Pack  up  to-morrow,  Di,  and  dust  off  the  typewriter; 
we're  going  to  settle  down  in  the  country." 

"Oh!"  said  Di,  lifting  her  nose  from  the  bottle  of 
perfume  she  had  lately  purchased,  "When  are  we  going? 
Shall  I  get  tickets?" 

"Day  after  to-morrow  morning,  an  all-day  ride.'* 

"I  wonder,"  said  Di,  "if  I  could  pack  mother's  things 
this  evening,  and  my  own  to-morrow  night.  I  have  a 
sort  of  engagement  for  lunch  to-morrow.  Freddy  was 
going  to  drive  Letitia  Conway  and  me  out  to  St.  Germain- 
en-Laye." 

"Child,  you'll  be  tired  out,  running  in  every  direc- 
tion and  packing  at  night." 

"Let  her  do  it,  Amy;  she's  young  and  supple." 

"I  wonder  if  Benoite  has  sent  my  hat." 

"Not  yet." 

"I'll  stop  around  for  it  in  the  morning  if  it  doesn't 
come." 

"You  seem  to  set  great  store  by  that  hat,  my  beauty." 

"So  would  you,  if  you'd  sunk  Cousin  Daisy's  whole 
Commencement  present  in  it." 

"And  you   flatter  yourself  you've  picked  a  winner?" 


THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS  187 

"You  wait  and  see,"  said  Diantha  darkly,  pirouetting 
to  work  off  her  animal  spirits. 

The  next  day  was  fine;  the  hat  had  made  its  appear- 
ance in  time  to  dazzle  the  adults  before  they  pottered  off 
in  a  fiacre  to  the  Bois.  Diantha  was  dressed  and  ready 
for  her  excursion,  and  there  was  nothing  to  do  except 
sit  beside  the  open  French  window,  and  glance  occasion- 
ally through  the  railings  of  the  balcony  to  the  street, 
where  Freddy's  touring-car  would  soon  make  itself  recog- 
nized, if  not  by  its  tint,  then  by  its  tootings.  A  pot  of 
columbines  stood  on  the  balcony,  tribute  from  a  swain. 
Diantha  thought  her  room  enchantingly  foreign,  though 
it  bore  such  a  marked  resemblance  to  other  French  hotel 
bedrooms  as  to  have  calmed  the  rapture  of  a  more  ex- 
perienced traveler.  A  flowered  carpet,  a  dark  figured 
wall;  a  high  gilded  mirror  over  the  washstand;  a  totter- 
ing table  covered  with  red  plush,  bearing  a  blotting-book, 
some  purple  ink,  a  withered,  sharp-pointed  pen  and  the 
desiccated  breakfast  tray;  damask  curtains  of  venerable 
tone;  a  faint  general  aroma  of  mold  and  dry-goods.  It 
will  hardly  be  believed  that  Diantha  never  closed  the 
door  on  herself  in  this  apartment  without  ecstasy. 

Far  prettier  than  the  room  was  its  occupant,  who  was 
now  wrinkling  her  brow  over  a  phrase-book  in  the  sun- 
shine. She  was  dressed  in  dark  gray  linen,  with  a  crisp 
fall  of  lace  marking  a  point  at  the  throat;  and  the  re- 
nowned hat  was  a  toque  entirely  compounded  of  rose- 
buds of  a  vivacious  character.  B^noite  in  creating  it 
had  doubtless  counted  upon  some  purchaser's  ability  to 
throw  its  insistent  pink  into  focus  by  the  aid  of  subtle 
powder  and  a  lip-stick;  but  Diantha  had  cast  off  the 
likeness  of  a  narcissus  in  favor  of  that  of  a  Killarney 
rose,  and  asked  no  odds  of  the  beauty-shop.  Sargent 
might  have  painted  her  head  and  shoulders  at  a  sitting, 
to  enchant  the  world;  the  face  fragile,  a  glow  of  pearl 


188  THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS 

and  flame  against  the  obscure;  the  varied  honey-brown  of 
her  hair  modulating  into  the  cream  of  her  neck  and  the 
foam  of  her  laces ;  the  gray  dress  artfully  recalling  and 
impressing  the  dark  gray  of  her  eyes. 

"C'est  un  monsieur  qui  vous  attend  en  has,  mademoi- 
selle!" 

Thus  the  infant  page-boy  at  the  door.  She  scrambled 
to  her  feet,  striving  to  collect  a  phrase. 

"Oui,  je  venez — tout  de  suite " 

"And,  flushed  with  the  mental  exertion,  she  ran  down 
some  five  flights  of  stairs  which  paralleled  the  course  of 
the  elevator  (for  the  elevator  was  a  sacred  fetich  and 
one  did  not  expect  it  to  run  except  on  holidays,  or 
for  the  gratification  of  guests  of  unquestioned  rank). 
Half-way  across  the  lobby  she  stopped  short. 

"No,  'venirai,'  "  she  said  firmly.  And  quite  content, 
she  greeted  her  escort. 

This  was  a  cleanly  youth  but  recently  an  A.B.  of 
Columbia  University,  to  whom  his  father  with  touching 
confidence  had  seen  fit  to  entrust  a  touring-car  and  a 
bulging  letter  of  credit  for  the  summer.  As  he  figures 
but  briefly  in  this  tale,  it  may  suffice  to  state  that  he 
got  into  much  less  mischief  than  one  would  have  ex- 
pected; that  he  married  no  elderly  countesses,  and  did 
not  bankrupt  himself  at  Monte  Carlo ;  and  that  the 
working  knowledge  of  France  acquired  during  this  holiday 
made  him  vastly  looked  up  to,  some  few  years  later,  when 
he  served  as  a  captain  in  the  S.O.S. 

This  Freddy,  then,  ensconced  her  beside  himself  on 
the  front  seat,  leaving  Letitia  and  her  partner  Bill  to 
entertain  one  another  in  the  tonneau.  Freddy  was  deeply 
smitten  with  Diantha,  upon  whom  his  eyes  had  first  rested 
as  she  came  aboard  the  boat;  and  it  may  be  that  some 
fugitive  dreams  of  her,  during  the  ensuing  months,  kept 
the  countesses  at  bay,  and  preserved  the  Wollmer  millions 
to  the  use  and  enrichment  of  an  American  bride. 

"Just  smell!"   cried  his  goddess,   deeply  inhaling  the 


THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS  189 

warm  flavor  of  gasoline  as  they  bowled  along  the  boule- 
vard. "You  could  tell  it  was  Paris,  with  your  eyes  shut." 

"It's  an  awful  funny  place/'  he  shouted  in  reply.  "For 
one  thing,  I  don't  believe  you  can  see  a  person  on  the 
street  this  minute  but  Americans.  Look  at  all  the 
Baedekers !" 

"School-teachers, — poor  things,"  murmured  Diantha, 
pityingly.  "Do  you  suppose  they  think  they're  having 
a  good  time?" 

"I  suppose  you  think  everybody's  like  you — can't  enjoy 
life  except  behind  a  forty-horse-power  engine!" 

"Oh,  I've  been  on  street-cars  in  my  day,"  said  Diantha, 
blushing,  and  seeming  to  catch  through  the  Parisian 
aroma  a  whiff  of  Hickory  Place. 

They  drove  out  through  the  Bois  to  St.  Cloud,  and 
on  over  the  perfect  roads  into  the  country.  The  physi- 
ognomy of  the  landscape — the  meanderings  of  the  Seine, 
and  the  gracious  accommodation  thereto  of  its  enfolding 
hills ;  the  discreet  stone  faces  of  the  houses,  with  their 
mansard  roofs,  their  shutters  and  their  walled  gardens ; 
the  chatty  well-being  that  emanated  from  the  inhabitants, 
— all  seemed  created  as  setting  for  a  day  of  pleasure. 

Their  progress  was  interrupted  at  Louveciennes  by  a 
person  who  had,  for  purposes  of  his  own,  set  up  a  merry- 
go-round.  Letitia  and  Bill,  immediately  upon  seeing  it, 
inaugurated  a  clamor  which  could  be  stilled  only  by 
letting  them  ride  on  it  several  times ;  and  Freddy  and 
Diantha  did  likewise,  urging  their  mottled  steeds  with 
cries  and  tweakings  of  the  mane.  The  proprietor,  a 
man  incredibly  fat,  looked  on  benevolently,  and  rewarded 
their  skill  in  collecting  brass  rings  as  they  whirled  past 
with  hoary  fragments  of  sucre  d'orge. 

They  likewise  took  the  wrong  road  out  of  Louveciennes ; 
and  Diantha  as  the  French  scholar  of  the  party  was 
deputed  to  interview  the  passing  peasantry  and  re-estab- 
lish connections. 

"Oti    est    St.    Germain-en-Laye?"    she    would    open, 


190  THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS 

garnishing  the  baldness  of  her  address  with  a  pretty 
smile.  "Est-il  long?" — (meaning  "Is  it  far?") 

Her  informant  would  reply,  very  rapidly,  and  in  ac- 
cents unfamiliar  to  her  high-school  ears. 

"What  does  he  say?"  the  others  would  ask. 

"We  turn  around,"  Diantha  would  reply,  judging,  as 
the  others  had  done,  by  the  gestures  with  which  he  was 
sure  to  have  vivified  his  discourse,  "and  then  we  go  off 
that  way." 

"It's  wonderful;  how  do  you  do  it?  Golly,  I  wish  Fd 
studied  French!" 

"It  sort  of  comes  to  you,"  she  would  say,  still  breathing 
hard  with  excitement,  but  trying  to  look  modest. 

By  the  time  they  reached  St.  Germain,  the  hour  was 
too  late  to  allow  of  sight-seeing  in  the  stricter  Baedeker- 
ian  sense.  They  determined  to  lunch  at  the  Pavilion 
Henri  Quatre,  and  then  ramble  through  the  forest,  which 
might,  for  aught  they  knew  to  the  contrary,  contain  more 
merry-go-rounds ;  the  point  was  at  least  worth  investigat- 
ing. The  terrace  was  crowded,  but  the  arrival  of  the 
blonde  car  passed  not  unnoticed  among  menials  whose 
sixth  sense  had  learned  to  estimate  the  prodigality  of 
human  nature  from  its  externals ;  so  they  found  them- 
selves moving  toward  a  table  beside  the  railing,  where 
they  could  eat  their  luncheon  perched  high  above  the 
Seine,  and  gaze  their  fill  across  the  valley. 

"Oh,  how  gay !"  cried  Diantha. 

The  little  tables  sparkled  and  glittered,  and  displayed 
to  their  passing  eyes  and  noses  the  freshness  of  salad, 
the  darkness  of  wine,  the  elusive  French  entree  and  the 
ubiquitous  mandarine.  Faces  friendly  even  if  not  those 
of  friends  were  turned  to  watch  their  progress ;  and  the 
eyes  in  these  faces  told  Diantha  her  hat  was  a  success. 
Beyond  the  awning  one  could  see  a  sky  of  a  tender  and 
benignant  blue,  and  far  across  the  valley,  shimmering 
among  her  hill-slopes,  a  thrilling  glimpse  of  Paris. 


THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE*  POWELLS  191 

.  .  .  "Di,  by  all  that's  holy!"  cried  a  voice,  and  at 
the  sound,  half  of  the  terrace  was  made  acquainted  with 
the  fact  that  the  healthy  brown-eyed  youth  had  found 
an  old  friend. 

"Fanning,  you  dear!"  she  replied,  seizing  both  his 
hands. 

Presentations  took  place,  rapid  and  confusing.  Fan- 
ning was  with  his  three  familiars,  plus  Mrs.  Jessey,  Miss 
Suzette  Jessey,  and  another  girl.  He  and  the  three 
friends  were  obviously  overjoyed  at  the  meeting  with 
Diantha,  and  were  all  for  uniting  tables  and  parties. 
Mrs.  Jessey  pointed  out  the  impracticability  of  this. 
While  waiters  hovered  about  with  suffering  faces,  like 
enlarged  but  active  microbes,  Mrs.  Jessey's  lorgnon  had 
informed  her  in  half-a-look  that  though  Diantha  might  be 
an  addition  to  the  party,  and  Freddy  Wollmer  was  not 
discreditable,  Miss  Letitia  Conway  and  her  Bill  were  a 
bit  out  of  the  picture. 

"Let  us  all  eat  in  peace  where  Providence  has  placed 
us,"  she  murmured,  "and  do  our  associating  afterwards." 

"Well,  don't  you  forget,  Di,  we've  got  to  have  a 
long  talk,"  said  Fan,  wringing  her  hand  again  before 
he  let  her  go  on  to  the  spot  where  Providence,  embodied 
in  the  head-waiter,  was  bowing  over  the  back  of  a  chair. 

"Now  tell  me  all  about  them,"  said  Letitia,  in  clarion 
tones,  before  she  was  fairly  seated.  "Who's  the  stunning 
old  lady,  and  who's  that  supreme  young  man?"  And 
she  cast  a  few  glances  of  admiration  toward  Mrs.  Jessey 
and  several  toward  Fanning.  "And  doesn't  that  girl  dress 
well?" 

While  outlining  what  she  knew  of  the  other  party, 
Diantha's  eyes  rested  often  on  the  "girl  who  dressed 
well" — Suzette  Jessey ;  and  in  the  process  of  looking 
she  became  a  little  less  satisfied  with  her  own  rosy  toque. 
Suzette  was  all  in  black,  except  for  a  jade  necklace  and 
earrings ;  and  her  hat  was  knowing  to  a  degree.  One 
could  not  call  her  pretty;  she  was  sallow,  clever-looking 


192  THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS 

and  piquant,  her  eyes  glittered  like  mica,  her  teeth  flashed 
in  a  shrewd  little  smile,  and  she  played  with  a  cigarette 
in  a  black  holder.  Diantha  had  of  course  seen  girls  who 
affected  a  sophisticated  style;  but  there  was  nothing  in 
Chicago  to  compare  with  the  finish,  the  easy  malice  and 
the  perfectly  controlled  vivacity  of  Suzette. 

"He  always  has  liked  earrings,"  she  thought,  recalling 
the  photograph  of  Anita  Somebody  at  Redgate  Farm. 

But  she  could  not  fail  to  see  that  during  this  luncheon, 
at  least,  her  own  charms  outranked  Suzette's.  Half  a 
dozen  times  she  looked  up  quickly  to  find  Fan's  eyes 
just  leaving  her  face,  while  Freddy  scowled  unhappily 
by  her  side.  She  could  see  the  men  glancing  at  her  and 
discussing  her. 

"Shadrach,  Meshach  and  Abednego,"  she  said  to  her- 
self. 

After  luncheon  they  foregathered,  and  the  men  began 
making  plans  involving  the  presence  of  the  decorative 
Miss  Powell  by  their  respective  sides  in  various  public 
places. 

"Oh,  dear,  I'm  so  sorry  we  didn't  all  meet  sooner," 
she  cried.  "We're  off  for  Grenoble  to-morrow." 

"Where's  Grenoble?" 

"It's  in  the  Alps." 

"We'll  come  there!" 

"Don't  believe  them  for  a  moment,  Miss  Powell,"  threw 
in  Suzette.  "They've  all  solemnly  promised  to  come 
up  to  Dinard  and  play  with  me." 

"When  am  I  going  to  see  you,  Di?" 

"Can't  you  come  over  this  evening?" 

"Well,  I'm  booked  for  a  party  with  these" — he  mutely 
indicated  the  Jesseys, — "but  they  won't  mind  if  I  break 
the  engagement.  They've  seen  me  every  day  this  week. 
I  say,  Mrs.  Jessey,  I'm  awfully  sorry,  but  I've  got  to 
ditch  you  this  evening.  It's  my  only  chance  to  talk  to 
my  family." 

"Lovely  filial  piety,"  smoothly  commented  the  jilted 


THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE,  POWELLS  196 

hostess.  "Of  course  we  can  get  a  man  to  take  your  place, 
dear  boy,  but  where  shall  we  find  one  as  attractive?" 

He  bowed,  laughing  and  flustered. 

"It's  a  dreadful  shame,  Cousin  Edgar's  hauling  you 
away  like  this,"  he  said  in  Diantha's  private  ear.  "Every 
one  of  those  fellows  fell  flat  for  you.  We  could  give  you 
a  wonderful  time.  The  Jesseys  are  corkers,  but  some  of 
the  other  girls  they  drag  along  are  pretty  poor  excuses. 
Don't  you  suppose  you  could  stay  over  till  the  first  of 
the  week?" 

"Oh,  I  wouldn't  ask  Cousin  Edgar  for  the  world.  He's 
been  such  an  angel, — and  he's  so  tired,  and  he  hates  Paris 
so.  You  must  just  come  to  Grenoble." 

"I'll  do  my  darnedest  to  steer  the  bunch  down  there. 
Could  we  climb?" 

"I'm  not  sure  about  that,  but  I  know  there's  a  public 
library." 

Fan  snorted.  "I'd  have  stayed  at  Michigan  and  Ran- 
dolph if  that  was  all  I  was  looking  for,"  he  made  reply. 

They  dined  that  evening — Amy,  Edgar,  Diantha  and 
Fanning — out-of-doors  on  the  Champs  Elysees,  with 
lights  among  the  trees,  stringed  instruments  playing  "C7n 
pen  d'amour,"  and  a  continual  stir  in  the  air  of  city 
sounds,  footsteps  and  laughing  voices.  Diantha  moved 
in  a  mist  of  white  chiffon,  which  Fanning  had  supple- 
mented by  a  bouquet  of  gardenias  and  shell-pink  roses. 

Without  communication,  Amy  and  Edgar  had  ob- 
served that  the  susceptible  heart  of  Fanning  was  again 
enkindled,  and  that  Diantha  seemed  to  be  walking  in  a 
dream ;  and  they  had  concurred  in  permitting  the  phe- 
nomena to  proceed. 

"She  and  her  Jesseys!"  Edgar  muttered,  gnawing  at 
his  cigar;  but  if  the  two  young  people  had  been  paying 
attention,  they  might  still  have  been  ignorant  of  the 
identity  of  "She."  The  astute  reader,  however,  will  con- 
clude that  he  was  triumphing  over  his  good  sister-in-law. 


194  THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE!  POWELLS 

With  the  advent  of  the  salad,  Fanning  offered  his 
cigarette-case  to  his  cousin,  and  she  rejected  it  with  a 
blush.  "Thank  the  Lord !"  said  he,  taking  a  cigarette  for 
himself,  and  snapping  the  case  shut.  He  drew  a  candle 
near,  and  as  the  light  struck  upward  across  his  face, 
Diantha  thought  him  completely  beautiful. 

"Miss  Jessey  smokes,  doesn't  she?"  she  asked. 

"She's  a  fiend.  Of  course  everybody  does  over  here. 
But  it  wouldn't  suit  you,  Di." 

"Tell  me,  do  you  like  her  awfully  well?" 

"Who,  Suzette?  Oh,  she's  as  good  fun  as  they  make 
'em;  regular  eye-opener  to  me,  too.  She's  so  nearly  a 
foreigner  that  I  can't  make  her  out,  and  yet  she's  enough 
of  an  American  so  I  can't  help  wanting  to  try.  But  I 
wouldn't  call  her  a  friend  exactly.  .  .  .  You  needn't  be 
jealous  of  her,  old  lady!" 

"Fan,  you're  unbearably  vain !  Who's  been  spoiling 
you?  Do  you  flatter  yourself  I'd  be  jealous  of  you?" 

"No,  I  don't  believe  you  care  about  me  one  way  or 
another.  You're  a  little  bit  spoiled  yourself,  Di  .  .  . 
just  because  all  these  silly  Frenchmen  make  eyes  at  you." 

"What  Frenchmen?" 

"It's  only  because  you're  blonde,"  he  pursued  brutally. 
"It's  nothing  personal.  .  .  .  I'd  sort  of  like  to  go  back 
to  the  Redgate  summer — I  could  make  you  jealous  there." 

"You  could  make  me  care  about  you  then;  I'm  inocu- 
lated now." 

"That's  true,  darn  it  all.  ...  If  I'd  known  how  much 
you  could  really  mean  to  me — well,  I  was  a  fool,  and  I'm 
getting  paid  back." 

He  was  leaning  his  chin  on  his  knuckles  and  staring 
at  the  candle;  she  was  looking  at  him. 

"I  suppose  you   simply  despise  me,  don't  you,  Di?" 

"How  absurd !  You  take  that  whole  affair  too  seriously. 
I've  put  it  away  at  the  very  back  of  my  mind." 

"Then  you  haven't  a  prejudice  against  me?" 


THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE,  POWELLS  195 

"You  know  I  haven't  an  active  one,  or  I  wouldn't  enjoy 
your  society  so  much." 

He  knocked  the  ash  slowly  from  his  cigarette.  "1 
have  a  feeling,  Di,"  he  said,  turning  his  eyes  to  hers, 
"that  some  day  you  and  I  are  going  to  start  all  over 
again." 


VIII 

DURING  the  train  journey  Diantha  leaned  in  her 
corner  by  the  window,  paying  little  attention  either  to 
her  fellow  passengers  or  to  the  ribbon  of  landscape  that 
reeled  itself  out  beside  her.  The  other  travelers  were 
German  students  off  for  the  Alps  with  riicksacks  over 
their  shoulders,  pheasant  feathers  coquettishly  thrust  into 
their  hatbands,  shoe-tips  projecting  like  duck-bills  be- 
yond their  sturdy  feet,  and  jolly,  unflinching  blue  eyes 
with  which  they  inspected  her  for  half-an-hour  at  a  time. 
Their  voices  wove  meaningless  patterns  across  the  fore- 
ground of  her  mind,  while  all  the  distance  was  washed  by 
level  waves  of  sadness. 

Sun  and  cloxid-shadow  flew  across  the  grain  fields,  hills 
rose  and  fell  like  musical  phrases ;  villages  snug  in  age- 
long neat  sobriety  struck  clear  color  accents.  Mean- 
while the  turning  of  the  wheels  beat  like  a  pulse  that 
measured  her  increasing  distance  from  Paris  and  from 
Fan. 

Let  it  be  admitted:  in  twenty-four  hours  her  child's 
love  had  flamed  up  anew,  more  intense  with  the  growing 
of  her  nature,  and  by  contrast  with  the  experiences  of 
this  strange  year. 

Edgar  Marriott  was  subtle,  and  he  loved  Diantha ; 
so  he  f  orebore  to  banter  her.  Indeed,  since  the  calamitous 
day  when  Eddie  hewed  down  his  statute  by  the  swimming- 
pool,  Ins  father  had  trod  with  cat-like  delicacy  among  the 
susceptibilities  of  his  brood.  He  had  a  recollection  which 
older  people,  formed  in  character,  sometimes  lose,  of  the 
devastating  completeness  with  which  a  young  soul  is  in- 
196 


THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS  197 

vaded  by  new  philosophies,  new  grief,  new  love;  and  he 
held  it  a  sin  to  hint  at  the  fluctuation  of  enthusiasm  and 
the  mutability  of  faith. 

He  had  not  been  entirely  pleased  with  his  nephew's  de- 
portment. There  was  still  a  conquering  tilt  to  his  head, 
suggesting  the  matinee  idol.  One  fancied  he  was  accus- 
tomed to  making  love. 

"I'll  pull  him  up  short  if  I  catch  him  feeding  his  vanity 
at  her  expense,"  thought  Edgar.  But  he  was  fond  of 
Fan — of  his  generous,  forthright  personality,  of  his 
tantalizing  possibilities.  One  must  not  forget,  however 
assured  might  be  his  manner,  that  for  Fan  as  for  Diantha 
this  was  the  formative  and  impressionable  age. 

Edgar  had  set  up  pawns  in  place  of  living,  danger-risk- 
ing, pain-suffering  human  beings  on  his  chessboard;  he 
enjoyed  maneuvering  them  about. 

Meanwhile  Diantha  in  her  nebulous  way  was  recon- 
structing her  new  impressions  of  Fan,  fitting  them  among 
the  old, — trying  to  separate  true  from  false,  hesitating 
over  glittering  fragments  too  beautiful  to  trust  and  too 
precious  to  discard. 

This  much  of  the  edifice  was  solid  substance:  his  good 
looks,  his  generosity,  his  pleasure  in  her  society;  as 
also  his  regrettable  penchant  for  earrings  and  flirta- 
tion. He  had  college  laurels  still  about  his  brow, — 
youth's  laurels,  be  it  said, — records  at  pole-vaulting, 
membership  in  august  clubs. 

But  whether  the  picture-puzzle  would  admit  certain 
opaline  scraps  of  yesterday  evening, — there  was  the  crux. 
He  had  not,  indeed,  expressed  devotion,  but  he  had  looked 
it;  he  had  incontinently  thrown  over  the  Jesseys  for  a 
chance  of  seeing  her,  and  above  all,  taking  the  past  into 
consideration,  he  must  have  been  either  sincere,  or  a 
passable  bounder,  to  renew  his  love-making. 

Was  he  a  bounder?  Her  whole  being  revolted  from 
that  conclusion.  Was  he  sincere?  Incredible.  .  .  .  Per- 
haps, then,  she  had  exaggerated  the  meaning  of  a  few  cant 


198  THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS 

phrases,  which  she  conceded  had  a  certain  familiarity  to 
her  own  ears. 

But  this  verdict  was  impossible  to  sustain  with  the 
memory  of  his  eyes  every  second  more  present  to  her. 
She  demanded  of  them  a  despicable  Nothing  or  an  im- 
possible All, — and  All  innocently  imagined,  as  abstract 
as  a  dogma,  as  vital  as  a  martyr's  creed. 

The  day  grew  long  and  golden.  They  were  tired ;  Amy 
half  asleep,  Edgar  sunk,  arms  folded,  in  a  reverie  under 
the  black  angle  of  his  eyebrows,  even  the  ebullient 
strangers  wearied  into  silence.  Diantha  was  staring 
vacantly  out  of  the  window,  across  green  plunging  valleys 
toward  the  blue  of  the  horizon,  which  floated  indistinguish- 
ably  into  the  transparence  of  the  deep  eastern  sky.  All 
at  once  her  breath  caught  with  surprise,  as  she  saw,  soar- 
ing high  above  the  colors  of  earth  in  the  luminous 
sapphire,  the  line  of  a  snow  peak  shining  like  a  fragment 
of  the  moon. 

She  had  never  seen  a  mountain  challenging  space  in  its 
bare  splendor,  but  in  some  sense  it  was  what  she  had 
always  been  waiting  to  see.  There  are  the  children  of 
space  and  the  children  of  height ;  for  these  the  sea  and 
the  plains,  for  those  the  everlasting  hills  and  the  flight  of 
birds.  She  had  found  a  home  for  her  thoughts. 


IX 

AFTER  a  brief  sojourn  in  a  hotel,  they  established 
themselves  under  the  roof  of  Madame  Duret,  who  as- 
sumed complete  charge  of  their  physical  welfare.  The 
house  was  outside  the  limits  of  the  town,  heavily  built  of 
old  stone,  old  plaster,  and  old  oak  beams,  so  thoroughly 
welded  by  time  that  they  resisted  alike  the  forces  of  decay 
and  the  beguilements  of  modern  plumbing.  Their  rooms 
overlooked  the  garden,  in  which  M.  Duret,  a  retired 
merchant,  passed  his  happiest  hours  with  a  trowel  or 
a  pruning  shears ;  for  the  pensionnaires  quickly  discovered 
that  Monsieur  lived  in  awe  of  his  wife.  She  had  brought  a 
dot  some  twenty-five  years  before,  which  had  entered  into 
his  enterprises  and  had  never  come  out  again,  at  least  in 
its  original  amplitude;  and  at  a  moment  when  his  affairs 
were  more  than  usually  distressed,  her  father  had  oblig- 
ingly passed  away,  leaving  her  the  house  they  now  in- 
habited. She  had  forthwith  removed  him  with  her  other 
effects  to  the  paternal  roof,  where  she  maintained  an 
undisputed  supremacy,  and  added  to  her  revenues  by 
entertaining  a  few  selected  boarders.  For  the  present 
M.  Marriott  and  Mme.  and  Mile.  "Poele"  occupied  what 
rooms  she  cared  to  spare. 

Leonie,  a  healthy  young  person  from  the  country, 
served  their  meals  in  the  salon  when  the  weather  was 
gray,  and  on  the  balcony  when  it  was  fine;  and  they 
drank  their  coffee  of  a  morning  under  the  tolerant  regard 
of  the  Alps. 

To  his  own  surprise,  Edgar  found  it  hard  to  drive 
his  brain  to  work.  He  had  always  regarded  himself  as 
an  energetic  person  incapacitated;  but  whether  it  was 
199 


200  THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS 

his  years  of  enforced  unproductiveness,  or  some  other 
cause  lying  in  his  own  nervous  system,  he  could  not  now 
turn  out  manuscript  in  any  fixed  quantity.  The  new 
broom  at  first  swept  clean;  in  three  days  and  nights  he 
wrote  an  enormous  introduction  to  his  monograph,  "out 
of  his  own  head,"  using  ideas  he  had  revolved  for  years 
on  the  renowned  Jean  Jacques.  In  another  half  a  morn- 
ing he  elaborated  a  diagram  of  the  rest  of  his  book;  and 
after  that  he  was  at  a  standstill,  for  lack  of  authorities. 
Certain  works  he  had  brought  with  him,  but  they  were 
insufficient.  Some  could  be  consulted  at  the  library,  and 
Diantha  could  make  excerpts ;  others  again  must  be  sent 
for  to  Paris,  with  such  delay  as  the  Lord  willed.  There 
was  no  use  going  further  till  he  had  assembled  his  mate- 
rial ;  and  meanwhile  he  read  memoirs  of  unimproving  court 
life,  and  made  notes  for  a  research  into  the  history  of 
the  salt  tax. 

Diantha,  spurred  alike  by  her  mother's  conscience  and 
her  own,  improved  her  typewriter  technique,  and  passed 
her  mornings  arranging  Edgar's  paragraphs  on  cards, 
which  he  later  shuffled  and  dealt.  Her  faculties  re- 
ceived in  this  work  a  far  severer  gymnastic  than  they  had 
undergone  at  high-school,  and  she  was  often  fatigued ;  but 
before  ten  days  were  out,  she  had  begun  to  feel  confidence 
in  her  own  concentration. 

Occasionally  she  fell  to  dreaming  over  her  keys,  espe- 
cially after  the  letter  that  reached  her  from  Paris,  full 
of  Fan's  best  compliments,  and  enclosing  a  snapshot  of 
himself  standing  arm-in-arm  with  a  laughing  young  girl 
in  a  rose-covered  toque,  on  the  terrace  at  St.  Germain-en- 
Laye.  "So  you  won't  forget  what  I  look  like,"  ran  the 
legend,  "before  you  see  me  again,  which  will  probably 
be  soon." 

During  the  July  afternoons  they  drove  and  rambled 
through  the  valleys  round  about,  and  established  their 
tea-basket  beside  brooks  and  little  waterfalls.  Amy  grew 
fat,  and  amused  herself  by  taking  lessons  in  embroiders 


THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS  201 

from  Mme.  Duret,  with  whom  she  exchanged  thoughts 
in  a  jargon  which  brought  tears  of  laughter  to  both  their 
eyes.  She  and  Edgar,  though  harmonious,  still  had  for 
each  other  a  slight  inward  scorn,  which  prevented  their 
intimacy,  each  thinking  the  other  had  made  a  gratuitous 
failure  of  his  life. 

They  watched  Diantha  cunningly,  but  she  gave  no 
signs  of  which  way  the  wind  blew.  There  was  expectancy 
in  her  eyes  every  time  the  post  arrived  or  the  door  bell 
rang,  every  time  she  turned  a  corner. 

Then  one  morning  came  a  letter  that  spoiled  the  day, — 
postmarked  Dinard,  and  a  full  twenty-four  hours  old. 
It  took  for  granted  that  Fan  meant  to  go  out  to  the  sea- 
shore all  along;  it  described  the  "little  horses"  of  the 
Casino  and  the  bathing  suits  of  the  plage;  it  wished  it 
could  see  Diantha,  but  in  general  terms,  hoping  it  might 
run  into  her  later. 

"What's  that  young  rapscallion  up  to  at  Dinard?" 
Cousin  Edgar  had  asked,  inspecting  the  handwriting  and 
the  postmark  before  giving  it  to  her. 

"I'll  tell  you  when  I've  read  it,"  she  had  replied,  con- 
cealing a  sinking  of  the  heart. 

But  when  she  had  slipped  it  back  into  its  envelope,  she 
walked  out  of  the  room,  and  neither  Amy  nor  Edgar 
asked  again  for  news  of  Fan. 

After  this  the  summer  progressed .  more  soberly,  and 
the  expectation  that  still  leapt  up  wherever  she  saw  a 
tall  young  man  approaching  knew  itself  for  a  self-cheat- 
ing hope.  The  Marriott-Powell  party  made  acquaint- 
ances,— a  few  staid  French  bourgeois  presented  by  Mme. 
Duret,  a  few  scholars  burrowing  at  Edgar's  side  among 
the  manuscripts  of  the  library,  two  English  girls  with 
their  governess  who  were  improving  their  accent  before 
finally  putting  their  hair  up,  and  who  resembled  young 
puppies  in  their  friendliness  and  their  artless  sprawling 
attitudes ; — no,  the  party  was  not  lonely,  but  it  was  dull. 
So  Diantha  admitted  to  herself.  In  spite  of  Alps  and 


202  THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS 

tea-baskets  and  the  French  tongue,  the  task  of  being 
secretary  was  as  steady  a  grind  in  Grenoble  as  in  Chicago. 
She  conceived  an  aversion  for  the  imperfect  character  of 
Jean  Jacques  Rousseau,  and  thought  but  little  of  his 
doctrines.  , 

"I  think  we'd  better  motor  over  to  Chambery  some 
day  this  week,"  said  Edgar. 

Diantha  did  not  wish  to  motor  to  Chambery,  but  she 
had  no  excuse  worthy  of  offering,  so  to  Chambery  they 
went,  and  from  Chambery  they  returned,  Diantha  in 
a  fever  all  the  while  for  fear  Fan  might  have  reached 
Grenoble  and  gone  again,  and  secondarily  because  the 
sun  and  wind  had  burnt  her  nose  till  it  peeled. 

But  when  Mme.  Duret  welcomed  them  back,  and  re- 
plied to  Di's  questions  that  the  mail  was  on  the  table,  but 
that  it  had  no  importance,  a  yet  more  gloomy  certainty 
succeeded  the  doubt — the  certainty  of  being  forgotten. 
The  mail  had  indeed  no  importance;  it  contained  nothing 
from  Dinard. 

So  arrived  the  first  of  August.  Tourists  of  every 
nationality  flocked  to  the  mountains,  and  by  contrast 
the  Marriott  party  aligned  itself  with  the  older  in- 
habitants. Once  or  twice  Diantha  met  in  the  streets  or 
the  park  some  friend  from  the  steamer,  who  described 
at  length  the  beauties  of  Italy,  Holland  or  the  Rhine, 
and  made  her  crave  a  few  idle  weeks  of  wandering.  But 
Edgar  and  her  mother  were  obviously  contented,  and  the 
book  had  begun  to  put  on  weight  at  last.  The  secre- 
tary's power  over  her  typewriter  had  likewise  increased 
with  practice  till,  as  she  boasted  to  Cousin  Edgar,  she 
was  almost  as  rapid  as  a  very  poor  professional,  and 
several  per  cent  more  correct.  He  for  his  part  professed 
himself  well  satisfied. 

And  yet,  since  she  was  not  only  his  secretary  but  his 
hobby,  he  regretted  the  dark  circles  under  her  eyes,  and 
the  ebbing  of  her  rose  flush. 

One  afternoon  the  library  was  so  stiflingly  hot  that  she 


THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS  203 

felt  faint;  so,  putting  her  file  of  papers  together  under 
her  arm,  she  made  her  way  into  the  streets,  and  so  down 
to  the  Jardin  de  Ville  where  she  might  be  able  to  find 
a  seat  for  a  little  while,  look  at  the  mountains,  and  per- 
haps feel  a  breath  of  air.  Heavy  heat  hung  over  the 
valley;  sounds  fell  dead  on  the  humid  atmosphere;  there 
was  no  stir.  The  nearer  mountains  looked  purple  and 
swollen,  the  snow  caps  stood  ironically  aloof. 

The  park  was  full  of  people  who  had  come  to  listen 
to  the  band,  and  Diantha  attracted  enough  attention  to 
have  made  her  hesitate  at  another  time;  but  there  was 
an  intensity  of  young  unhappiness  on  her  face  which  saved 
her  from  annoyance.  She  found  a  place  on  a  bench  near 
the  river,  looking  to  the  north,  and  sat  there,  enduring 
her  extreme  loneliness  as  best  she  might.  Beyond  the 
city  she  could  rest  her  eyes  on  the  profiles  of  the  Grande 
Chartreuse,  and  to  her  right  soared  the  pinnacle  of  Mt. 
Blanc. 

The  air  became  more  and  more  oppressive,  stirring  in 
gusts  like  the  gasping  of  a  sick  beast.  Matrons  con- 
siderate of  their  hats  glanced  at  the  sky,  and  plucked 
their  sticky  offspring  from  the  delights  of  the  band  con- 
cert, directing  their  footsteps  toward  home.  The  horns 
and  trombones  blared  thickly,  a  girl  laughed  on  a  false 
note  of  hysteria,  but  the  general  chatter  was  subdued. 

Diantha  had  not  particularly  noticed  the  passers-by 
who  were  scurrying  homeward,  but,  when  the  band 
stopped  in  the  middle  of  a  selection,  she  glanced  around 
and  saw  the  drums  and  cornets  disappearing  into  their 
cases,  and  the  conductor  struggling  to  get  an  ulster  over 
his  gold-braided  purple  uniform.  From  the  south  was  roll- 
ing up  a  black  thunder-cloud,  sweeping  along  on  an 
upper  current  of  wind.  Already  half  the  valley  was  in 
shadow,  and,  as  she  looked,  lightning  snapped  from  the 
mass,  and  the  thunder  followed  ominously  close,  roaring 
and  tumbling  against  the  mountain  walls. 

With  a  gasp,  Diantha  collected  herself,  and  set  off  at 


204  THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS 

a  run  for  home,  up  hill  and  down,  glancing  over  her 
shoulder  and  watching  for  the  first  big  drops  on  the 
cobble-stones. 

There  was  a  stretch  of  road  between  the  town  proper 
and  Mme.  Duret's  house,  with  high  stone  walls  and  an 
occasional  locked  gate,  and  when  she  reached  the  begin- 
ning of  this  shelterless  stretch  sh'e  saw  that  the  storm 
had  outrun  her;  so  she  dodged  into  the  shelter  of  a  little 
charcuterie  and  there  watched  the  rain  descend  in  spat- 
ters, in  gusts,  then  in  solid  torrents.  Coolness  came  at  last. 
The  stout  old  gentleman  who  presided  over  the  sausages 
and  sardines  expanded  himself,  and  stood  beside  her  in 
the  doorway,  puffing  through  his  battered  mustache 
"epatant!"  "foudroyant!" 

"Eh !  behold  a  droll  who  approaches !"  he  exclaimed ; 
and  with  the  words  a  tall  stranger  broke  through  the 
wall  of  rain  and  burst  into  the  shop, — a  tall  stranger? — 
no, — Fanning. 

In  high  astonishment,  Diantha  collapsed  against  the 
counter.  "Why — why —  "  she  gasped. 

"You  ran  like  a  rabbit,  and  you  had  a  head-start," 
he  said,  removing  his  hat  so  that  it  might  drain  elsewhere 
than  down  his  collar,  and  giving  his  shoulders  a  brisk 
shake,  after  which  he  looked  thoroughly  at  home  and  at 
ease. 

"You  might  tell  me  what  you're  doing  here." 

"I  just  had  to  come,"  said  he.  "I  couldn't  get  you 
out  of  my  head." 

"That's  nice,"  she  replied  happily.  "Have  you  seen 
Mother  and  Cousin  Edgar  yet?" 

"I've  left  my  suitcase  up  at  your  old  lady's." 

"Were  the  family  surprised?" 

"They  were  out  driving.  Madame  told  me  you'd  be 
down  at  the  library.  She  was  very  anxious  to  have  me 
follow  you  down  there,  said  you'd  been  expecting  a 
monsieur." 

"Why,  I  never  told  her  any  such  thing." 


THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS  205 

"Whoever  you  were  expecting,  I'm  glad  it  was  me  that 
came.  My  gosh,  it's  good  to  see  you!" 

The  charcutier,  surprised  and  intrigued  by  the  odd 
customs  of  the  Americans,  retired  to  a  dark  recess  in 
his  shop,  much  as  a  naturalist  hides  behind  a  bush  so 
that  his  subjects  may  fancy  themselves  unobserved.  It 
was  a  pleasant  shop,  smelling  of  tangerines,  goose-liver 
and  cheese. 

"How  did  you  find  me  here?" 

"Well,  you  weren't  at  the  library,  so  I  strolled  around 
the  town,  and  caught  sight  of  you  just  as  you  loped  out 
of  the  park.  You  were  blocks  away,  and  you  did  sprint !" 

"Oh,  Fan,  I'd  rather  meet  you  this  silly  way  than  any 
other." 

"Any  way  of  meeting  you's  nice." 

The  charcutier  wondered  whether  the  young  man's 
manner  of  hovering  about  the  young  lady  indicated  that 
he  was  going  to  embrace  her,  and  redoubled  his  attention ; 
but  he  did  not  do  so.  He  looked  very  fatuous,  and  so 
indeed  did  she,  as  if  the  heavens  had  opened  before  her; 
but  they  did  not  so  much  as  shake  hands. 

"The  train  was  beastly,"  said  Fanning.  "Jammed,  and 
late,  and  suffocating.  You  wouldn't  believe  that  there  was 
a  woman  who  was  afraid  to  have  the  window  open,  even 
to-day !" 

"Where  are  all  your  friends,  Fan?" 

"At  Dinard."  And  he  scowled.  "I'll  tell  you  about 
that  some  time.  I  want  to  hear  now  what  you've  been 
up  to,  and  how  many  Frenchmen  have  proposed  to  you, 
and  what  you  think  of  me  for  not  coming  down  here 
before." 

Inconsequently  they  chattered,  while  the  rain  careered 
downward  and  set  up  cataracts  in  the  gutters.  She 
needed  no  cheating  hope  to  tell  her  that  this  Fanning 
was  different  from  any  Fanning  she  had  yet  known.  He 
was  in  earnest,  and  he  had  lost  his  cock-sure  grin.  He 
seemed  to  be  trying  to  read  her  thoughts  from  her  face. 


206  THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS 

At  length  there  came  pauses  in  the  rainfall — last  spat- 
ters, diminishing  to  the  musical  drip-drip  of  the  eaves. 

"Come  out  and  see  if  there's  a  rainbow,"  said  Fan. 

"Wait  a  minute;  Monsieur,  avez-vous  de  la  confiture 
aux  groseilles?" 

"Malheureusement  non,  mademoiselle,  mais  j'en  ai  de 
ires  speciale  en  framboise."  And  the  stout  patron 
emerged  to  dandle  a  white  china  jar,  covered  with  a 
muslin  cap,  before  her  eyes.  With  such  delicacies  she  was 
accustomed  to  piece  out  the  bread-and-coffee  breakfasts 
which  still  filled  her  American  interior  but  sparely.  So 
she  bought  the  raspberry  jam,  and  let  Fan  tuck  her  port- 
folio under  his  arm,  and  off  they  set  down  the  high-walled 
lane.  The  air  was  as  fresh  as  fruit,  now,  and  the  rainbow 
was  faintly  visible  against  the  sky. 


IT  was  several  days  before  Fan  disclosed  his  motives 
for  leaving  Dinard.  He  had  been  flirting  with  Suzette, 
and  she  had  been  too  clever  for  him.  The  story  he  told 
Diantha  was  not  perfectly  clear,  but  it  involved  himself 
and  a  rival,  the  scion  of  some  proud  race  in  the  South- 
east of  Europe,  and  Suzette's  dexterity  in  playing  off 
one  against  the  other.  "By  George,  you  can't  help  ad- 
miring her!"  he  exclaimed.  "It's  like  sitting  at  the  table 
with  a  perfect  bridge-player  who  outclasses  you  com- 
pletely. You  hardly  begrudge  the  tricks  she  takes  away 
from  you." 

Fanning  had  learned  from  the  private  conversation  of 
the  rival  that,  though  a  victim  to  Suzette's  fascinations, 
he  had  radically  misinterpreted  her  manner,  and  in  fact, 
attributed  to  her  the  code  of  the  married  woman  of 
French  fiction, — a  branch  of  literature  thoroughly 
familiar  to  him.  The  horror  of  this  discovery,  under  the 
surface  of  polite  gayety  which  Fan  had  been  finding  so 
smooth  to  his  feet,  had  brought  all  his  chivalry  raging 
to  the  fore.  He  burned  to  protect  Suzette,  who  was  after 
all  an  American,  and  a  lamb  among  wolves,  from  the  con- 
sequences of  her  levity.  He  thundered  at  the  Balkan  hero, 
who  seemed  astonished,  asked  if  he  was  being  challenged, 
and,  finding  that  thought  remote  from  Fan's  ingenuous 
brain,  closed  the  interview  by  laughing  with  disagreeable 
suavity  in  his  face. 

Fan's  next  step  was  to  remonstrate  with  Suzette  and 

warn  her;  and  this  interview  was  the  cause  of  his  final 

disillusionment.      "Not,"  he  said   slowly,  "that   I   think 

she  isn't  straight;  she's  just  disgustingly  knowing."     In 

207 


208  THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS 

brief  Suzette  had  smiled,  called  him  "Parsifal,"  thanked 
him  for  his  interest,  assured  him  that  she  had  no  belief 
in  the  intentions  of  Slavic  suitors,  but  that  she  found  it 
amusing  to  outplay  them  at  their  own  game.  She  had 
further  intimated  that  although  it  was  not  impossible  to 
bring  these  ravening  wolves  to  the  point  of  proposing 
honorable  marriage,  and  that,  in  spite  of  a  certain  ex- 
iguity of  dower  impossible  to  conceal  from  their  inquiring 
natures,  she  had  nevertheless  too  good  judgment  to  ruin 
her  happiness  by  putting  it  into  the  hands  of  any  such 
despicable  amoralist ;  that  her  dream,  in  her  deepest  and 
sincerest  heart,  was  of  an  American  home  and  an  American 
husband, — a  loyal,  straightforward,  enthusiastic,  hard- 
working American  man; — if,  she  added  with  downcast 
eyes,  Fate  should  find  her  worthy  of  this  felicity. 

For  once  Suzette  had  overplayed  her  hand.  "If  she'd 
pretended  to  be  surprised  and  shocked,  I'd  have  believed 
her,  and  I'd  be  dead  in  love  with  her  this  minute.  I  didn't 
realize  that  a  girl  could  be  so  hard,  and  yet  set  up  as 
a  nice  girl.  French  families  don't  let  their  daughters  run 
loose  that  way,  you  know,  and  American  men  don't  ex- 
pect what  foreigners  do  of  girls  like  her.  Her  aunt  ought 
to  be  put  in  jail  for  not  looking  after  her;  she  must  know 
better." 

Leaving  the  Jessey  villa,  his  head  whirling  with  indigna- 
tion, scorn  and  injured  pride,  he  had  gone  off  to  keep 
an  appointment  at  the  tennis  courts  with  Babcock;  and 
following  three  furious  sets,  they  had  slaked  their  thirst 
among  the  tea-drinkers.  There  in  a  corner  sat  Suzette 
and  her  prince,  their  noses  in  close  proximity  over  the 
tea-cups,  and  a  series  of  excellent  jokes  passing  between 
them,  accompanied  by  peals  of  innocent  laughter. 

During  a  night  and  a  morning  tramp  along  the  shore, 
he  had  debated  schemes  of  revenge,  conversion,  oratorical 
persuasion,  all  without  being  quite  able  to  leave  her  to 
her  fate.  "It  does  seem  a  shame  for  a  girl  as  attractive 
as  that  to  go  to  the  dogs ;  and  that's  what  will  happen 


THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS  209 

to  her  if  she  keeps  it  up  at  this  rate."  He  had  had  some 
thoughts  of  marrying  her  to  reform  her,  but  a  saving 
sense  of  her  superior  dexterity  had  persuaded  him  that 
he  could  maintain  no  hold  upon  her. 

Then  a  strange  phenomenon  had  taken  place.  He  was 
approaching  a  point  of  rocks,  and  the  mist  from  before 
sunrise  was  just  beginning  to  be  threaded  by  rays  of 
light  and  wind.  Through  one  of  these  rifts  he  caught  a 
glimpse  of  the  highest  rock,  and  on  it  Diantha  was  sitting, 
very  sad,  very  pale,  with  her  face  turned  away. 

On  hearing  this,  Diantha  gasped,  and  felt  as  if  a 
ghost  had  run  its  fingers  down  her  spine. 

"I  began  thinking  about  you,  Di," — he  did  not  pretend 
he  had  thought  much  about  her  before,  "and  it  seemed 
to  me  I  had  to  see  you.  You  were  so  fresh,  and  so 
wholesome,  and  so  true  ...  I  felt  as  if  I'd  just  missed 
being  asphyxiated  and  my  head  was  still  swimming,  and 
you  were  the  fresh  air.  ...  I  tore  down  and  got  the  day 
train  to  Paris ;  left  a  note  for  Quinny ;  another  note  for 
Mrs.  Jessey  .  .  .  and  now  I'm  going  to  climb  moun- 
tains, and  go  back  to  the  really  beautiful  things.  .  .  ." 

During  these  days  she  and  Fan  were  suspended  between 
earth  and  sky,  past  and  future.  There  was  no  love- 
making,  in  the  old  sense;  their  relations  were  more  as 
they  had  been  before  the  play  at  Redgate — he  pouring 
out  his  thoughts  and  she  counseling  him  and  brooding 
over  his  troubles.  She  had  no  jealousy  of  Suzette,  no 
conscious  love  for  Fanning.  She  wanted  nothing  in  the 
world  except  to  go  on  typewriting,  eating  raspberries,  and 
wandering  down  green  valleys  with  Fan. 

He  on  his  part  was  full  of  new  and  sublime  imaginings. 
Living  the  healthful,  stupid  life  of  the  college  man,  he 
had  to  all  appearance  outgrown  the  day-dreams,  in  which 
he  had  led  troops  under  raking  fire  to  the  relief  of  long- 
defended  forts,  or  sold  his  life  dearly  in  holding  back, 
single-handed  at  the  top  of  a  staircase,  some  shrieking 
mob  while  women,  children  and  the  aged  scurried  to 


210  THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS 

safety  behind  him.  But  now  the  day-dreams  reappeared 
in  altered  form.  He  spent  hours  smoking  with  Edgar, 
discussing,  perhaps,  the  cooperative  movement  in  in- 
dustry ;  and  as  he  was  falling  asleep  at  night  he  would 
see  himself,  in  fancy,  carried  on  the  shoulders  of  cheering 
laborers,  who  were  about  to  elect  him  their  representative 
to  something:  or  swaying  Trade-Union  meetings  with  his 
eloquence ;  or  sitting  at  a  mahogany  table,  explaining  to 
a  circle  of  gray-haired  capitalists  his  unique  success  in 
the  practical  exploitation  of  the  Golden  Rule. 

Even  Edgar,  who  was  at  the  bottom  of  these  dream- 
ings,  was  sometimes  fatigued  by  the  discussion  of  them; 
but  Fan  thirsted  for  high  arguments. 

Diantha  was  made  the  recipient  of  some  of  his  visions, 
and  was  awed  by  their  moral  beauty.  Since  his  seeing  her 
on  the  rock,  she  had  felt  that  his  perceptions  were  un- 
approachably fine,  and  she  reproved  herself  for  not  having 
earlier  appreciated  them.  Furthermore,  since  he  took 
it  for  granted  that  she  was  the  standard  of  the  lovely 
and  the  good,  she  came  in  some  measure  so  to  regard  her- 
self. They  sat  under  pine  trees  watching  the  light  on  the 
peaks,  and  planned  their  new  earth. 

"It's  hit  Fan  all  at  once,"  Edgar  told  himself.  "True 
love,  and  public  spirit.'*  And  he  delighted  his  still- 
romantic  soul  by  petting  the  new  recruit.  He  could  not 
resist,  wisely  or  unwisely,  a  post-card  to  Daisy,  assuring 
her  of  her  son's  presence  and  continued  health. 

"Can  you  believe  that  France  is  real?" 

"No,  it's  just  a  picture-book."  They  had  climbed,  and 
the  valley  of  the  Isere  spread  beneath  them  as  far  as  the 
town,  which  was  indeed  like  the  back-drop  of  an  opera. 
Beech  and  chestnut  branches  overhung  the  ledge  where 
they  were  lounging ;  the  higher  mountains  had  drawn  near 
in  the  purity  of  the  morning  light.  At  the  foot  of  the 
trees  rocks  lay  splashed  with  sunlight,  wearing  a  velvet 
skin  of  moss  in  the  shade;  and  the  grass  was  bedizened 


THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS  211 

with  blue-bells.  One  could  see  smoke  rising  from  chim- 
neys down  the  valley;  and  in  the  silence  one  could  hear 
tiny  sounds  of  fly-wings  in  the  air,  or  horse's  hoofs  on  the 
distant  roads. 

Fan,  pronouncing  that  France  was  a  picture-book, 
propped  his  back  against  a  rock,  and  sat,  pipe  in  mouth, 
his  knickerbockered  legs  outstretched  before  him,  and  his 
hands  behind  his  head.  He  looked  sometimes  at  the  view 
and  sometimes  at  Diantha,  who  had  dropped  among  the 
blue-bells,  fanning  herself  with  her  hat. 

"I  feel  as  if  life  couldn't  be  real  in  such  a  pretty  place; 
as  if  I  ought  to  go  back  where  it  was  ugly,  and  make 
myself  useful." 

"You  little  Puritan !  You  work  twice  as  hard  as  any- 
body else  does  here;  Uncle  Edgar  drives  you  like  a 
horse." 

"Oh,  no,  Fan!  I  don't  do  one  bit  more  than  I  enjoy 
doing.  I'm  as  happy  as  can  be  now;  I  wasn't  at  first." 

"Why  weren't  you,  Di?     Was  it  too  hard  for  you?" 

"I  guess  I  was  lonesome.  You  see  I'd  always  been 
around  with  young  people  before." 

"So  you're  glad  I  came." 

"Of  course,  Fan." 

"Well,  I've  got  to  be  moving  on  soon.  I  had  a  letter 
from  Mother  this  morning.  She  doesn't  know  I'm  happily 
sitting  on  a  rock  at  the  foot  of  the  Alps,  but  she  cau- 
tioned me  not  to  waste  too  much  time  and  money  at 
Dinard,  and  she  reminded  me  that  this  was  the  only 
chance  I'd  have  in  years  to  see  the  sights  of  Europe.  I've 
seen  more  of  you  than  of  any  other  sight  in  Europe, 
counting  the  times  you  were  present  and  the  times  you 
weren't." 

At  once  Diantha  sank  the  full  depth  of  her  shaft. 
"I  suppose  you  ought  to  go,"  she  said,  "but  I  shall  miss 
you  frightfully." 

"It  couldn't  stay  as  wonderful  as  it  has  been,"  he 
said  gently.  "These  ten  days  have  meant  more  to  me 


212  THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS 

than  all  the  rest  of  my  life.  I  see  now  just  what  I  want 
to  do.  If  I  stayed  here  any  longer  with  you  and  Cousin 
Edgar,  it  would  be  like  hanging  around  in  heaven  when 
I  was  overdue  on  earth.  But  it's  a  part  of  me." 

Fan  had  fallen  into  the  way  of  idealizing  Diantha. 

"You'll  be  starting  in  at  the  Bank,  I  suppose,  in  the 
fall." 

"Yes,  licking  stamps.  But  I'm  going  into  politics, 
like  Uncle  Edgar,  as  soon  as  I  get  a  foothold  in  the 
city." 

"The  country  needs  men  like  you,"  said  Diantha,  look- 
ing at  him  with  limpid  eyes. 

"You'll  be  in  Chicago,  Di,  and  I'll  talk  everything 
over  with  you;  and  I  count  on  you  to  keep  me  up  to 
time — to  remind  me  of  the  promises  I'm  making  here,  to 
myself  and  to  you." 

"And  to  the  Alps." 

"They  don't  care;  they've  seen  too  many  little  people 
come  and  go." 

"You  think  they  don't  take  notice;  but  how  do  you 
know  what  they  say  to  each  other  on  cold  winter  nights, 
under  the  stars?" 

"They  probably  say  'Who  sat  on  my  blue-bells  last 
August?'" 

"I'm  positive  the  blue-bells  don't  mind  our  sitting  on 
them." 

"What  will  you  be  up  to?" 

"In  the  autumn?" 

"Yes." 

"Cousin  Edgar  wants  me  to  go  on  working  for  him, 
but  I  think  I  ought  to  find  a  place  where  I  wouldn't  be 
spoiled  and  pampered." 

"Diantha!  don't  you  think  of  getting  another  job. 
You  mustn't  go  out  into  an  office." 

"And  why  not?    Plenty  of  girls  do." 

"They're  not  like  you." 


THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS  213 

"Oh,  yes,  they  are,  precisely,  only  probably  nicer." 

"They  may  be  just  as  nice,  but  they're  not  tiny  little 
frail  things — like  this."  He  held  up  one  of  the  blue- 
bells between  his  fingers,  where  the  fine  curve  of  the  stem 
stood  braced  against  the  droop  of  the  gem-like  calices. 

"It's  an  ordinary  blue-bell,"  she  said,  her  lip  quivering. 

"False  modesty,  Di.  You  must  know  you're  one  of 
the  loveliest  things  in  the  world." 

"I  can't  bear  to  have  you  talk  like  that." 

"What  are  you  afraid  of?  Do  you  suppose  I  don't  mean 
it?  Now,  Di,  darling  Di,  you  mustn't  let  yourself  think 
back  to  that  summer  at  Redgate.  I  was  as  blind  as  a 
bat  then,  and  I  didn't  appreciate  you,  and  I  deserved 
almost  any  unpleasant  thing  you  might  have  said  to  me. 
But  you  know  yourself,  I've  changed,  this  very  summer. 
Haven't  I?" 

"Yes,  I  think  you  have." 

"You'd  better  think  so ;  it's  you  that  did  the  changing. 
You  know  I  love  you  now,  Di,  and  you  know  it's  because 
I  see  what  you  really  are — honest,  and  fine,  and  faithful, 
and  kind  and  sweet.  You're  the  greatest  lady  I've  ever 
known,  through  and  through." 

"No,  no,  Fan !"  Her  face  was  turned  away  from  him, 
and  her  heart  was  passionately  rejoicing  that  he  should 
believe  these  absurdities. 

"You're  my  saint,  Di,"  said  Fan.  There  was  a  silence, 
while  he  pulled  at  his  pipe. 

"We  can't  go  any  farther  than  that  now,"  he  said 
finally.  "I'm  not  on  my  feet ;  I  haven't  anything  to  offer 
you.  I'm  not  going  to  ask  you  whether  you  love  me." 

"You  know  I  do,"  said  Diantha  unexpectedly,  in  an 
intense  voice  without  any  breath. 

"Little  angel,  you  love  me  a  great  deal  in  your  own 
sparkling  white,  selfless  way.  You  don't  have  to  tell  me 
that."  There  was  another  pause  and  he  frowned  slightly. 
He  twisted  himself  about,  to  look  squarely  into  her  face. 


214  THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS 

"When  I  say  'love,'  "  he  went  on,  "I  don't  mean  what 
you  mean.  It's  got  a  different  string  of  ideas  tied  to 
it.  I — I've  kissed  too  many  silly  girls,  Di." 

"Oh,  that!"  she  said  scornfully. 

"It's  not  as  unimportant  as  you  think.  There's  still 
another  meaning  to  the  word,  that's  bigger  than  either 
you  or  I  have  got  at  yet.  We'll  come  to  it  if  we  hold 
on ;  but  we'll  have  to  take  time.  For  one  thing,  I've  got 
to  forget  a  lot,  before — 

"Before  what?" 

"Before  I'll  let  myself  kiss  you." 

"You  can't  imagine  how  little  that  means  to  me,  when 
once  I'm  sure  you  do  really  care." 

"You're  nothing  but  a  delicious  greenhorn;  but  that 
doesn't  prevent  my  'really  caring'  about  you." 

So  they  talked  while  the  sun  bowled  up  and  over  the 
zenith,  and  down  the  sloping  west;  and  the  irrefragable 
proof  of  their  love  was  that  neither  of  them  missed 
luncheon  till  four  in  the  afternoon. 

Two  days  later,  after  stimulating  the  Three  by  tele- 
graph into  a  show  of  activity,  Fanning  set  off  for  a 
rapid  inspection  of  Milan,  Florence,  Rome,  Venice  and 
Munich,  with  such  side  excursions  as  might  prove 
feasible.  At  the  station  Diantha  put  into  his  hand  a 
small  parcel,  which  he  found  contained  a  photograph  in 
a  carved  wood  frame,  of  the  mountains  behind  Grenoble. 

"No,  I  shan't  forget,"  he  said  to  it,  just  before  the 
train  plunged  into  the  tunnel. 

Edgar  had  been  partially  enlightened  by  his  nephew. 
"I  shouldn't  precisely  say  we  were  engaged,"  said  the  boy, 
accurately,  "but  we  are  undoubtedly  'keeping  company.'  " 

As  matters  had  progressed  no  further,  his  uncle  did  not 
feel  it  necessary  to  put  forward  any  inquiry  as  to  the 
probable  opinion  of  Fan's  parents  or  Diantha's ;  he  held 
his  breath,  metaphorically  speaking,  and  crossed  his 


THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS  215 

fingers,  and  wished  that  matters  might  be  more  irrevocably 
arranged  before  the  return  voyage. 

Jean  Jacques  Rousseau  suffered  grave  neglect  thence- 
forward. On  the  one  hand,  Edgar's  reading  had  led  him 
into  the  contemporary  mazes  of  the  Internationale,  which 
he  found  more  interesting  than  the  "Contrat  social"; 
and  he  was  doing  some  concentrated  imagining  of  the 
results  upon  history  of  the  success  of  the  movement,  with 
its  ideals  and  its  practical  discrepancies,  when  it  was  once 
tried  on  the  grand  scale,  as  it  was  certain  to  be. 

On  the  other  hand,  Diantha's  zeal  for  research  had 
sensibly  abated.  She  seemed  to  find  nourishment  for  her 
spirit  by  sitting  in  the  back  garden  and  gazing  at  the 
everlasting  hills. 

"After  all,"  Edgar  thought,  watching  her  through  the 
window,  "I  brought  her  over  quite  as  much  to  nourish 
her  spirit  and  fall  in  love,  as  to  play  on  my  typewriter. 
Plenty  of  girls  could  do  that  better  than  she  does." 

This  nourishment,  however,  was  not  pure  ambrosia. 
She  was  delightfully  happy ;  the  letters  Fan  wrote  sent 
her  into  raptures.  But  she  was  neither  such  a  child  as  he 
thought,  nor  such  an  angel.  She  had  already  experi- 
enced more  realities  than  he,  she  had  faced  sickness, 
poverty,  misfortune  at  home;  she  had  earned  her  bread- 
and-butter  for  several  months  (even  though  the  con- 
fiture and  framboises  came  as  largesse  from  Cousin 
Edgar).  In  fine,  although  she  was  a  sentimentalist,  Fan 
had  been  for  once  more  high-flown  than  herself ;  and  she 
missed  him, — she  missed  being  called  a  saint,  she  missed 
their  long  walks  and  high  confidences,  she  missed  their 
jokes;  but  more  particularly,  and  with  increasing 
poignancy,  she  missed  the  caresses  he  had  so  magnificently 
denied  her. 


XI 

FAN'S  homeward  passage  had  been  taken  for  months, 
in  the  company  of  the  shamefully  neglected  Shadrach, 
Meshach  and  Abednego ;  and  from  Munich  he  wrote  to 
Diantha  that,  according  to  Babcock,  the  Jesseys  had 
been  prevailed  upon  to  take  the  same  boat.  "You  know 
how  that  thrills  me!"  he  added  in  parenthesis.  Di  was 
grieved  that  Suzette  should  be  permitted  the  whole  home- 
ward voyage  in  Fan's  company,  while  she  was  fated  to 
dawdle  across  the  Channel  and  sail  from  Liverpool  six 
weeks  later. 

Cousin  Edgar  had  benevolently  consented  to  be  in 
Paris  during  the  week  before  Fan's  sailing,  and  the  four 
boys  were  due  from  Germany  on  the  same  day  they  came 
up  from  Grenoble. 

Fanning  and  Diantha  had  one  or  two  days  to  renew 
their  lyric  state,  while  Amy  bought  enameled  powder- 
boxes  and  hat-pins  in  the  Rue  de  Rivoli.  Late  one 
afternoon  they  drifted  back  to  the  hotel  after  a  boat 
trip  down  the  Seine,  in  their  customary  happy-go-lucky 
frame  of  mind,  regardless  of  past  and  future,  to  be  met 
by  an  unpredicted  shock. 

Throughout  the  summer  Amy  had  been  the  most  in- 
conspicuous of  the  party.  While  she  could  not  be  called 
vivacious,  she  had  shown  flashes  of  gayety  and  continued 
periods  of  quiet  happiness.  It  was  her  first  vacation 
since  her  marriage  from  manual  labor  and  harassing 
anxieties,  and  she  had  signalized  it  by  putting  on  weight. 
Her  eyes  had  not  quite  the  tragic-Muse  look  which  had 
given  her  face  its  distinction,  but  neither  had  her  mouth 
the  line  of  long-suffering.  When  one  thought  of  her  at 
216 


THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS  217 

all,  one  was  conscious  that  she  must  have  been  a  rather 
charming  young  girl;  but  for  the  most  part  she  held  no 
one's  active  attention. 

The  shock,  then,  came  when  Amy  met  them  at  the  door 
of  the  sitting-room,  her  arms  full  of  shoes  and  tissue- 
paper,  and  thrust  into  Di's  hand  a  cablegram: 

"Chicago,  etc. 

"When  are  you  returning  I  need  you  Vesey" 

"You  see,  Diantha,  I  was  wrong  ever  to  leave  home," 
she  commented. 

The  point  was  not  arguable,  her  convictions  being  en- 
trenched in  the  marrow  of  her  bones. 

"Edgar  has  gone  around  to  the  steamship  offices  to 
see  if  I  can  sail  at  once.  It's  a  very  bad  time  to  get 
passage." 

"Di,  you  and  your  mother  can  take  our  boat.  Won't 
that  be  bully?" 

"Easier  said  than  done,  Fan." 

"I  shan't  have  a  moment's  peace  till  we  get  started." 

"Oh,  come,  Cousin  Amy,  if  there  was  anything  awful  the 
matter,  he'd  have  mentioned  it." 

"He  wouldn't  have  cabled  unless  he  was  sick  or  in 
trouble." 

It  was  hard  to  discuss  Vesey  Powell  without  treading 
on  his  wife's  susceptibilities,  and  Fan  preferred  to  go 
out  on  Edgar's  trail,  for  the  purpose  of  exhorting  him 
to  take  passage,  willy-nilly,  on  the  "Kaiser  Karl."  Edgar 
was  discovered  in  an  attitude  of  perplexity,  before  one 
of  Messrs.  Thos.  Cook  &  Sons'  gratings,  having  just 
learned  that  not  only  was  there  no  choice  of  accommoda- 
tions, there  was  no  space  for  another  three  weeks  on  any 
line, — all  America  having  crossed  the  seas  during  June, 
being  bent  on  traversing  them,  in  the  opposite  sense, 
before  the  first  of  October. 

"I  shall  go  mad,  Fan,  if  I  have  to  be  in  Amy's  com- 


218  THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS 

pany  these  next  three  weeks,  while  she's  battling  with 
her  remorse." 

"I  wish  I  could  give  you  my  place,  but  I'm  all  tied  up 
in  a  suite  with  the  other  three  fellows;  and  I  can't  turn 
them  out ;  two  of  them  must  be  back  when  Law  School 
opens." 

"It  infuriates  me  to  have  to  upset  all  my  plans  for 
that  vermin  of  a  Vesey  Powell!  Why  didn't  he  stay 
deserted?" 

"Lord  knows  !  I  can't  explain  that  man."  Vesey  rested 
lightly  on  Fan's  shoulders,  even  though  he  was  Diantha's 
father. 

"Semthing  may  turn  up  at  the  last  minute,  you  know," 
said  the  refined  clerk,  "but  I  mest  say  frankly  it's  un- 
likely. Twenty  people  are  ahead  of  you,  at  that." 

The  impossible  was  not  to  be  coerced  into  acquiescence; 
Amy  was  forced  to  postpone  sailing  toward  her  help- 
mate for  another  three  weeks.  The  change  of  schedule 
was  just  enough  to  upset  the  trip  to  England,  and  leave 
them  with  time  on  their  hands,  which  they  proposed  to  kill 
as  best  as  they  might  in  Holland. 

Fan,  meanwhile,  had  met  the  Jesseys,  and  had  invited 
them  to  dinner  and  the  theater,  asking  also  Edgar,  Amy 
and  Diantha,  the  three  faithfuls,  and  a  girl  whom  Devine 
had  recently  met  and  fallen  in  love  with.  It  was  set 
for  his  last  evening  in  Paris. 

Diantha  dreaded  the  party.  She  lamented  the  parting 
from  Fan,  even  for  a  few  weeks ;  her  mother's  anxiety  had 
played  upon  her  for  several  days ;  and  Fan's  confidences 
had  given  her  a  deep  distrust  of  Suzette  Jessey.  Possess- 
ing no  new  clothes,  and  no  money  to  buy  them,  she 
appeared  in  the  same  white  chiffon  which  had  entered 
public  life  on  the  occasion  of  her  first  Paris  dinner  with 
Fan,  but  which  had  since  that  time  seen  service  and  lost 
its  seraphic  freshness,  and  over  it  her  well-traveled  polo- 
coat. 


THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS  219 

When  the  guests  stood  assembled  in  the  lobby  of  the 
restaurant,  her  heart  sank  within  her.  Mrs.  Jessey  wore 
a  glittering  shell  of  purple  sequins,  with  a  train  that 
clanked  elegantly  on  the  floor,  a  lorgnette  and  a  dog- 
collar.  Her  white  hair  resembled  some  masterpiece  of  the 
posticheur's  art  in  a  show-window,  and  her  face  and 
shoulders  had  the  waxen  perfection  of  the  posticheur's 
mannequin.  Let  it  not  be  thought  that  Mrs.  Jessey  was 
overdressed;  her  slender  and  correct  figure  bore  these 
varied  splendors  with  the  most  sophisticated  repose.  One 
fancied  she  slept  in  her  dog-collar. 

The  two  girls  were  chattering  to  the  young  men,  and 
made  no  move  to  include  Diantha  in  their  circle.  Fan 
was  doing  the  honors  among  his  older  guests,  and  she 
was  left  for  a  few  moments  to  watch  them. 

Clara  Beresford  was  an  attenuated  and  aristocratic 
ash-blonde  marvelously  attired  in  dark-blue  chiffon  em- 
broidered with  gold,  violet  and  crimson  and  dripping  with 
dark  fur.  Her  smile  was  a  world-weary  thing,  suggestive 
of  strange  currents  of  feeling,  and  employed  when  least 
applicable  to  the  subject  in  hand.  Suzette  was  dressed 
with  smashing  simplicity  in  a  tulle  of  a  poisonous  emerald 
green,  untrimmed,  and  relying  for  effect  on  its  color, 
its  unflawed  crispness,  and  a  liberal  display  of  Suzette's 
own  person. 

Before  long,  of  course,  Fan's  friends  had  made  Diantha 
welcome;  but  she  would  have  given  ten  years  off  the  far 
end  of  her  life  to  have  owned  a  cloth-of-gold  gown  and 
an  ermine  cape  lined  with  vermilion. 

The  table-talk  lay  with  the  Dinard  circle  and  touched 
lightly  on  this  celebrity  and  that,  generally  titled.  For 
some  time  they  discussed  whether  Fifi  had  given  the  duke 
his  conge,  or  whether  she  had  ever  had  the  chance;  and 
apropos  of  this  they  told  several  anecdotes  about  Fifi's 
ludicrous  parents. 

"My  dear!"  said  Miss  Beresford,  laying  a  long  hand 
impressively  on  her  partner's  cuff,  but  addressing  Suzette. 


220  THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS 

"That  isn't  Nijinski?"  and  she  turned  her  ash-gray  eyes 
toward  a  certain  stranger  a  few  tables  away. 

"Impossible!  He  must  be  in  Russia  .  .  ."  but  none 
the  less  they  gazed  and  speculated  on  what  He  looked 
like  without  make-up.  Mrs.  Jessey  maintained  that  she 
had  met  him  face  to  face  in  that  comparatively  unclothed 
state.  Diantha,  unfortunately,  had  not  seen  the  Russian 
ballet. 

Shadrach,  Meshach  and  Abednego  were  the  salvation 
of  the  party,  for  they  liked  Diantha  and  Mrs.  Powell 
quite  as  well  as  the  Jesseys,  and  they  were  vastly  taken 
by  Edgar,  of  whom  Fan  had  given  them  romantic  ac- 
counts. Fan  himself  was  majestically  ensconced  between 
the  two  lady  chaperons,  and  was  not  enjoying  his  dinner 
to  the  full.  About  twice  during  every  course  he  and 
Diantha  exchanged  a  prolonged  look,  which  gave  them 
strength  to  go  on. 

At  the  play  she  found  herself  sitting  between  Devine 
and  Babcock,  who  bombarded  her,  after  each  laugh  of 
the  audience.  "What  did  the  fellow  say  that  time?  Did 
you  get  it?"  Now  Diantha's  French  had  improved,  but 
it  was  not  perfect ;  and,  moreover,  when  she  did  under- 
stand, she  did  not  always  wish  to  translate.  Here 
Suzette  shone.  She  leaned  across,  and  sent  a  stream  of 
rapid  interpretations  down  the  line,  casting  light,  without 
crudeness,  on  the  proceedings.  Her  paraphrases  were 
marvels  of  quick  wit,  both  as  to  what  she  dared  to  say 
and  what  she  suppressed;  and  Di's  French  was  at  least 
good  enough  to  appreciate  them. 

Suzette  had  a  delightful  smile,  tomboyish  without  being 
in  the  least  innocent.  One  enjoyed  provoking  it. 

Between  the  acts  she  asked  Fan  bluntly :  "Is  that  your 
best-beloved?" 

"She's  certainly  among  the  first  ten,"  he  answered 
placidly. 

"You  must  tell  me  all  about  her.  Not  here;  on  the 
boat." 

Fan  thought  to  himself  that  they  should  probably  talk 


THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS  221 

about  something  besides  Diantha  on  the  boat.  He  did 
not  want  Suzette  to  touch  that  topic. 

The  play  over,  he  so  arranged  matters  that  the  Jesseys 
and  Miss  Beresford  were  escorted  home  by  the  other 
young  men,  while  he  assigned  himself  the  duty  of  return- 
ing his  relatives  to  their  hotel.  When  the  strangers  had 
disappeared,  he  thrust  Edgar  and  Amy  into  a  taxi,  and 
bade  them  godspeed.  "Diantha  and  I,"  he  said,  "will 
walk." 

"Don't  be  long,"  protested  Amy,  as  they  drove  off. 

They  were  not  long — not  very  long;  but  for  an  hour 
they  did  wander  through  the  glory  of  the  night.  White 
walls  in  the  moonlight  looked  as  if  cut  from  the  very  sub- 
stance of  the  moon,  with  velvet  shadows  profoundly  mark- 
ing their  angles.  The  sky  shimmered,  a  green-blue  im- 
mensity, behind. 

"It's  almost  like  the  mountains,"  Fan  whispered. 

"It's  not  a  bit  like  the  mountains,  but  it's  just  as 
beautiful,  and  I'll  never  forget  it." 

What  they  said  to  each  other  was  not  original,  but 
they  felt  it  as  a  reality  in  the  wavering  moonlit  world. 
What  they  meant  was  that  they  had  made  a  very  beau- 
tiful beginning,  and  that  they  hoped  infinitely. 

Leaning  on  the  parapet  of  the  bridge  that  crosses  from 
the  Place  de  la  Concorde  to  the  Quai  d'Orsay,  they 
heard  the  river  rippling  in  a  mist  beneath  their  feet. 

"Fan !" 

"Darling?" 

"Do  you  imagine  God  knows  how  happy  we  are  to- 
gether?" 

"Very  likely." 

"I  hope  He  does;  He'd  enjoy  it." 

".  .  .  I'm  glad  that  stupid  party  is  over.  That  sort 
of  people  come  between  us." 

"Did  you  feel  it  too?     I  was  quite  lonesome." 

"I'd  rather  be  alone  with  you  on  a  rock  up  above 
Grenoble." 

"Well,  we  have  to  live  in  the  world." 


222  THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS 

They  were  silent — the  thought  saddened  them. 

"We'd  better  go  back,"  said  Di. 

"I'm  afraid  to  let  you  go." 

"You  mustn't  be  afraid,  Fan;  you  needn't.  .  .  .  All 
the  same,  I'm  afraid  too." 

They  stood  hand  in  hand,  tiny  under  the  vastness  of 
the  sky. 

"Do  you  know  what  I  wish,  more  than  anything  in  the 
world?" 

"What?" 

The  silence  was  prolonged. 

"What  is  it?  Tell  me,  Di;  I  might  be  able  to  get  it 
for  you." 

Without  quite  knowing  what  she  did,  she  slipped  her 
arms  up  around  his  neck,  and  Fan's  scruples  blew  away 
like  smoke. 

"Do  you  know,"  she  said,  "we're  in  the  very  middle  of 
the  Place  de  la  Concorde  and  it's  as  light  as  day?" 

"Who  cares  ?  There's  nobody  going  by  but  a  few  nuts 
in  taxicabs." 

"I  don't  care  in  the  least;  it's  just  rather  funny." 

So  they  set  off  down  the  Rue  de  Rivoli  for  the  hotel. 
It  was  somber  under  the  arcade,  and  sadness  fell  upon 
them, — a  sadness  too  vast  and  elemental,  one  would  have 
said,  to  have  had  its  origin  in  their  inconclusive  kiss. 


XII 

"THE  same  old  town!"  said  Edgar.  He  was  not  dis- 
pleased to  be  rolling  through  the  miles  of  backyards 
by  way  of  which  the  returning  Chicagoan  must  approach 
his  city.  He  was  looking  forward  to  his  own  house,  his 
own  books,  his  own  maid-servant  Rhoda  and  his  own  son 
Eddie;  to  his  own  gold-fish,  remote  descendants  of  those 
who  had  enchanted  Di's  twelve-year-old  eyes ;  his  electric, 
his  family  portraits,  his  old  slippers.  It  would  be  a  long 
time  before  he  went  world-wandering  again,  especially  as 
his  purposes  in  regard  to  Diantha  had  been  so  well  fur- 
thered by  this  trip. 

And  with  what  relief  and  joy  would  he  not  resign 
Amy  on  her  own  doorstep  on  Hickory  Place,  to  the 
affectionate  Vesey !  She  had  been  not  less  trying  than  he 
had  anticipated  during  the  interval  before  she  reached 
home. 

As  for  Amy,  she  neither  knew  nor  cared  whether  she 
was  inconvenient  to  her  cousin;  her  place  was  by  Vesey's 
side,  and  the  only  motions  of  which  she  had  approved  for 
the  last  month  had  been  those  which  forwarded  her 
progress.  She  had  been  often  impatient,  especially  when 
after  the  departure  of  the  "Boadicea"  she  had  heard  that 
it  sailed  with  two  empty  cabins.  If  Edgar  had  made  the 
effort  he  might  have  discovered  those  cabins.  But  Edgar, 
after  all,  was  a  divorced  man, — that  is,  a  man  who  had 
not  done  his  duty  by  his  wife, — and  she  could  hardly 
expect  him  to  rise  above  himself  in  assisting  a  woman  to 
do  her  duty  by  her  husband. 

So,  unfortunately,  the  two  cousins  had  returned  to 
their  postures  of  superiority  toward  each  other;  and  the 
equilibrium  of  the  traveling  trio  was  thereby  disturbed. 


224  THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS 

As  for  Diantha,  she  was  staring  out  of  the  window, 
but  not  seeing  the  garbage-cans  and  washing;  her  eyes 
were  fixed  prophetically  on  the  station-platform  where 
Fan  would  meet  her. 

She  was  off  the  train  as  soon  as  the  porter  had  the 
steps  down,  and  stood  dazed  in  the  crowd.  For  a  mo- 
ment she  saw  no  one;  then  with  cries  and  tramplings, 
Herby  bore  down  upon  her,  followed  by  Mat ;  and  he 
was  flanked  by  her  father,  grotesquely  stout  and  pros- 
perous-looking. Over  the  shoulder  of  Herby's  embrace 
she  saw  Fan  looking  for  her,— his  square  shoulders,  his 
brown  face  glancing  anxiously  right  and  left ;  and  de- 
taching herself  from  her  brother  she  rushed  to  him  and 
flung  her  hands  into  his. 

The  family  divided  itself  perforce  between  two  taxis, 
and  Edgar  made  it  easy  for  Fan  and  Di  to  ride  home 
with  him  in  his  before  returning  to  the  North  Side.  So 
before  long  they  were  alone  together;  and  Diantha  noted 
happily  that  the  traffic  was  sufficiently  blocked  to  give 
them  a  long  talk. 

"Di,  there's  hell  to  pay,"  he  said.     "I'm  almost  crazy.*' 

At  once  her  intuition,  which  had  been  numbed  by  the 
excitement  of  arrival,  awoke,  and  she  perceived  that  he 
was  in  fact  a  different  boy  from  the  one  who  had  left  her 
in  Paris.  He  was  nervous,  and  there  was  a  sullen  look 
on  his  face. 

"Tell  me,"  she  breathed. 

"Everything's  wrong,  Di, — inside  and  out." 

"What  do  you  mean  by  that?" 

"Did  you  know  the  Jesseys  are  visiting  at  our  house?" 

Her  heart  sank.     "No,"  she  said. 

"You  may  hear  almost  anywhere  that  Suzette  and  I 
are  engaged, — everybody  thinks  so.  But  don't  you  believe 
it." 

"Why,  Fan?  In  the  first  place,  how  did  she  get  out 
here?" 

"Oh,  you  know,  Mother  is  perfectly  crazy  about  Mrs. 


THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS  225 

Jessey,  and  she  invited  her  last  spring;  and  somehow 
Suzette  just  came  along.  I  hate  that  girl." 

"I  don't  see  what  difference  she  makes  one  way  or  the 
other." 

"Don't  you?  Well,  she  has  the  knack  of  bothering 
me  almost  to  death.  I  can't  get  away  from  her;  I  can't 
keep  her  out  of  my  head." 

"Do  you  have  to  see  her?" 

Diantha  darted  a  frightened  glance  at  the  corner  of  his 
face — brow,  eyelid,  lash  and  cheek-bone, — which  looked 
somehow  alien  to  her. 

"I  have  to  be  civil  while  she's  in  the  house;  and  then 
she  makes  me  fight  her,  and  then  she  flirts  with  me,  and 
then  she  turns  humble  and  pathetic.  ...  I  see  through 
her  perfectly;  I  despise  her  tricks,  Di,  and  she  knows  it; 
and  yet— 

"And  yet  you're  interested?"     Di's  voice  shook. 

"You  can't  understand  that,  can  you?  You're  not 
built  that  way.  I  assure  you, — I  give  you  my  solemn 
word, — it  doesn't  even  touch  the  way  I  feel  about  you. 
I  always  know  you  are  the  very  sweetest  person  in  the 
world,  and  I — really,  Di,  you  don't  know  how  I  adore 
you ;  but  when  Suzette  says  'Snip'  it's  the  most  natural 
thing  in  the  world  for  me  to  come  back  with  'Snap' — do 
you  see?" 

"Not  exactly." 

"You're  not  a  flirt,  Di.  Neither  am  I,  really ;  but  the 
surface  of  me  is.  Go  a  little  way  down,  and  you'll  find 
I  don't  think  about  anybody  but  you." 

"Then  why  should  you  think  I  care  whether  you  squab- 
ble with  Suzette?" 

"It's  not  just  squabble,"  he  said  uncomfortably. 

"Fan!     You  don't  mean  you — 

"Not  yet,  but  she's  trying  to  make  me  and  I've  wanted 
to,  like  the  devil !  .  .  .  Sometimes  I  think  I  might  as 
well  kiss  her  and  get  it  over  with.  .  .  .  It's  the  silliest 
game  in  the  world." 


226  THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS 

"I  don't  quite  understand  the  point,"  said  Di,  feeling 
very  desolate. 

"You  wouldn't  in  a  million  years.  There's  no  point 
worth  understanding;  it's  something  like  getting  a  dog 
to  walk  on  its  hind  legs.  .  .  .  But  you  must  understand 
this  much,  Di;  the  reason  I'm  telling  you  all  this  at  the 
very  start  is  not  to  make  you  think  I'm  fond  of  Suzette, 
for  I'm  not,  one  bit ;  it's  to  prove  I'm  really  in  love  with 
you;  and  if  you  hear  anything  to  the  contrary,  you're  to 
tell  yourself  people  are  mistaken.  Suzette's  the  kind  of 
girl  who's  always  being  discovered  in  dark  corners  with 
you,  looking  very  sociable;  and  she  doesn't  mind  a  bit 
having  people  think  we're  engaged." 

"She  must  be  a  perfect  fiend." 

"No,"  said  Fan  thoughtfully;  "she  has  good  points. 
You  and  she  are  in  different  classes,  that's  all.  Now 
mind,  I  don't  want  to  make  love  to  her,  and  I  don't 
intend  to  be  trapped  into  doing  it ;  and  you  mustn't  be- 
lieve anything  about  me  unless  I  tell  you  myself." 

There  was  an  interval,  before  Diantha  said  soberly: 
"Fan,  you  know  you're  quite  at  liberty  to  make  love  to 
Suzette  or  anybody  else;  we're  not  engaged;  you  don't 
have  to  explain  your  conduct  to  me." 

"Dearest  Di,  listen.  This  episode  will  either  make  or 
break  us.  If  I  can  handle  myself  now  in  a  way  that  is 
perfectly  loyal  to  you,  I  won't  be  afraid  to  ask  you  to 
marry  me.  (There  can't  be  many  people  in  the  world 
more  distracting  than  Suzette,  he  thought  paren- 
thetically.) If  I  can't,  if  I'm  not  strong  enough,  I've 
no  right  to  marry  you,  because  I'd  make  you  unhappy. 
We're  as  different  as  can  be,  you  and  I,  Di:  part  of  me, 
and  the  best  part,  understands  you ;  another  part  under- 
stands Suzette." 

"Then  what  do  I  do— just  wait  till  you  find  out?" 
Her  tone  was  faintly  indignant. 

After  a  pause  he  replied.  "I  can't  think  of  anything 
better.  ...  It  was  so  simple  up  at  Grenoble,"  he  pur- 


THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS  227 

sued,  "sort  of  artificially  simple.  I  was  way  above  myself, 
and  I  thought  I'd  never  come  down.  But  the  fellow  you'd 
have  to  live  with  wouldn't  be  that  stained-glass  cherub 
you  knew  in  the  Alps." 

"Fan,  what's  the  use  of  your  keeping  on  saying  you 
care  about  me?  You  don't,  not  really.  You  want  a 
lot  of  freedom  and  a  lot  of  adventure;  and  your  caring 
for  me  stands  in  the  way  of  all  that." 

"You  are  mad,  aren't  you?  I'm  terribly  sorry;  I  was 
afraid  you  wouldn't  understand.  Now  listen,  my  darling 
Di,  and  believe  me: — and  don't  laugh:  there  is  a  higher 
me  and  a  lower  me,  and  you  needn't  think  I  want  the 
lower  one  to  come  out  on  top.  I  realize  that  all  the 
good  in  me  is  tied  up  with  you.  If  I  marry  you  I'll 
progress,  and  I'll  do  some  good  in  the  world — just  as 
we  planned,  you  remember.  Otherwise  I  shan't  amount 
to  three  copper  cents,  and  when  I  die  all  I'll  leave  behind 
is  golf  trophies.  Now  don't  you  see  I  want  to  fight 
myself  for  you?  You  mean  to  me,  not  only  yourself,  Di, 
but  what  Cousin  Edgar  wants, — unselfishness,  and  high 
principles  and  all  that." 

"If  I  could  only  help  you,  Fan,  instead  of  just  sitting 
around  while  you  do  the  fighting !" 

"I  wouldn't  let  you  lower  yourself  by  standing  up  to 
Suzette.  And  she'd  lick  you  six  ways  at  once  on  her 
own  ground.  No,  darling,  don't  you  try  to  lure  me  away 
from  Suzette;  just  let  me  see  you  and  talk  to  you,  and 
I'll  forget  all  about  her;  and  by  George,  she'll  have  to 
go  home  some  time;  she  can't  visit  us  all  winter." 


XIII 

AFTER  telling  Diantha  that  things  were  wrong  "inside 
and  out,"  Fan  had  amplified  his  own  internal  combats, 
and  passed  over,  by  way  of  sparing  her  feelings,  those 
of  his  difficulties  which  originated  with  his  mother. 

Daisy  Marriott  had  not  lacked  informants  as  to  her 
son's  infatuation.  Edgar's  vainglorious  post-card  from 
Grenoble  had  roused  suspicions,  as  had  certain  phrases 
in  Fan's  letters.  Then  when  the  Jesseys  landed,  there 
had  been  perfect  agreement  between  aunt  and  niece  that 
their  duty  la}'  in  Chicago.  I  would  not  intimate  that 
Cora  Jessev  and  Suzette  were  so  crude  as  to  discuss 
strategy ;  but  why  relinquish  an  eligible,  a  peculiarly 
eligible  suitor,  after  a  week's  intimacy  on  the  steamer, 
when  they  had  already  an  invitation  to  visit  at  his  home? 
The  Jesseys  were  agreed  to  concentrate  their  campaign. 

One  wonders  whether  Cora  Jessey  thought  of  herself  as 
a  predatory  fox  in  a  chicken  yard,  and  her  old  friend 
Daisy  Marriott  as  a  blind  and  benevolent  hen.  If  so, 
she  was  much  deceived;  for  in  reality  she  was  a  vagrant 
lured  for  reasons  of  policy  into  the  den  of  a  mother  fox 
whose  every  hair  was  a-bristle  with  the  instinct  of  danger. 
Not  for  a  moment  did  Daisy  intend  Fan  to  marry  Suzette ; 
she  was  to  be  used  and  discarded,  perhaps  given  an 
opportunity  to  woo  some  even  richer  Chicagoan,  perhaps 
set  adrift ;  Daisy  had  no  compunctions.  But  she  was  not 
averse  to  a  little  information  as  to  what  had  actually 
taken  place  abroad,  nor  to  the  promulgation  of  a  little 
gossip  regarding  her  boy  and  Suzette,  as  a  counter- 
irritant  to  any  stories  that  might  be  at  large  relating  to 
Diantha ;  nor  even  to  a  little  expert  flirtation. 
228 


THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS  229 

During  these  October  days  Daisy  had  the  constant  feel- 
ing that  she  was  playing  for  high  stakes,  and  must  show 
no  excitement.  She  had  heard  Fan  asking  his  father 
for  a  half-day  off,  to  meet  the  travelers,  and  had  tried 
to  prevent  the  arrangement;  but  Tolman  did  not  be- 
grudge the  time  to  his  heir.  In  minute  ways  she  had 
shown  Fan  her  disapproval  of  his  latest  love.  She  con- 
sidered whether  the  hour  was  yet  ripe  for  opening  her 
heart  to  her  husband,  but  recalling  his  fondness  for  Amy, 
she  held  her  peace.  Now  that  Diantha  was  at  home,  the 
situation  was  bound  to  develop. 

In  one  respect  she  erred ;  she  thought  the  pair  formally 
engaged,  and  expected  upon  Di's  arrival  a  proclama- 
tion of  the  fact.  But  when  none  was  forthcoming,  she 
found  her  nerve  too  unsteady  for  a  waiting  game,  and 
chose  to  force  the  issue. 

The  party  returned  on  a  Thursday;  Friday  evening 
Fan  broke  a  theater  engagement  to  spend  the  evening 
on  Hickory  Place,  and  Daisy  chose  the  same  evening  to 
unburden  herself  to  Tolman. 

Tolman's  jaws  worked  uneasily,  and  he  scowled  a  good 
deal;  but  he  was  not  properly  enraged.  "More  than 
likely  there  is  nothing  in  it,"  he  said.  "Puppy  love;  miles 
from  an  engagement.  Just  because  Cora  tells  you  it's 
true  doesn't  make  it  true;  you've  had  experience  of 
that  sort  of  thing.  Why,  good  Lord!  You  might  say 
I  was  in  love  with  Amy,  in  a  way,  when  I  was  a  young 
chap ;  boys  always  fall  in  love  with  their  pretty  cousins ; 
but  it  never  amounted  to  anything,  and  we  never  ex- 
pected it  would.  Don't  let's  worry  them,  or  they'll  take 
it  seriously." 

"Then  you  don't  approve  of  the  idea  any  more  than  I 
do?" 

"You  haven't  explained  to  me  just  how  hard  you  dis- 
approve," he  answered,  looking  quizzically  at  the  lighted 
end  of  his  cigar,  "and  I  imagine  I'm  not  as  wrought  up 
as  you  are;  but  certainly,  nice  as  Diantha  is,  she's  not 
just  the  wife  I'd  pick  for  my  boy." 


230  THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS 

"A  thousand  times  no !" 

"Diantha's  a  lady,  even  if  she's  not  very  large  caliber-, 
but  her  relations  are  pretty  awful.  That  rapscallion 
Mat ;  and  Vesey — !  Daisy,  you  can't  picture  to  yourself 
till  you  see  that  fellow,  how  disgusting  he  looks  when 
he's  fat.  It's  a  revelation!" 

"How  much  does  he  owe  you?" 

"Oh,  very  little.  He  came  in  to-day  with  a  certified 
check  for  two  thousand,  and  that  all  but  squares  him. 
I  didn't  ask  where  he  got  it.  But  I  took  a  look  at  him, 
and  once-  is  plenty." 

"No  one,"  said  Daisy,  rising,  "could  have  been  as  nice 
to  that  family  as  you  have  been."  And  she  kissed  him 
good-night  to  indicate  the  termination  of  the  interview. 

"Don't  flatter  me;  Edgar's  given  them  as  much  money, 
one  way  or  another,  as  I  have,  and  twice  the  time  and 
personal  interest.  Of  course  he  has  the  time  to  give,  and 
I  haven't." 

His  wife  left  him  to  the  latter  half  of  his  cigar. 

On  Saturday,  Daisy  had  planned  that  Fan  was  to  come 
home  in  time  for  luncheon,  and  go  with  the  Jesseys  and 
a  party  to  a  football  game  at  the  University.  During 
the  morning  he  called  up  to  tell  his  mother  that  he  had 
got  two  extra  seats,  and  was  bringing  Mat  and  Diantha. 

"Oh,  what  a  nuisance!  There  won't  be  room  in  the 
machine  or  at  the  table,  and  it  will  separate  us  all  in  the 
grandstand." 

"I'll  drive  Di  down " 

"Suzette  expects  to  go  in  your  car." 

"Well,  I've  asked  Di,  so  I  guess  that  settles  it,"  he 
said  and  hung  up.  He  was  no  stranger  to  Daisy's  moods, 
and  had  known  for  days  how  she  disliked  Diantha. 

He  and  his  mother  were  very  fond  of  each  other,  and 
she  influenced  him  subconsciously  by  the  intense  feeling 
she  directed  upon  all  his  affairs. 

Di  came  accordingly  to  luncheon,  and  watched  with 
eyes  and  ears  for  what  might  be  passing  between  Suzette 


THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS  231 

and  Fan.  Midway  of  the  meal,  Tolman  walked  into  the 
room,  and  stood  with  his  feet  apart,  pulling  off  his 
motoring-gloves  and  favoring  the  party  with  a  black 
scowl. 

"Daisy,"  he  said,  "you  were  right.  I  want  to  talk  to 
you  before  you  go." 

"We  ought  to  leave  soon,"  she  murmured,  glancing 
at  the  watch  on  her  wrist.  "Let's  step  into  the  other 
room  now." 

"I  want  a  word  with  Fan,  too.  Can't  you  send  the 
others  on,  and  let  him  drive  you  up  a  little  later?" 

"Certainly,"  she  said  and  turned  back  to  her  guests 
with  the  disciplined  brightness  that  hostesses  learn  in  the 
course  of  years. 

The  Marriotts  had  a  habit  of  disregarding  their  music- 
room,  their  library,  and  their  drawing-room,  and  sitting 
wedged  into  a  cranny  near  the  foot  of  the  stairs,  known  as 
the  "telephone  hole,"  and  furnished  chiefly  with  an  old 
sofa,  the  telephone  table,  one  straight  chair,  and  an 
etching  in  the  style  of  1882,  inscribed  "Le  tneux  soldat." 
In  this  retreat,  after  the  party  had  been  painlessly  dis- 
patched, Tolman,  Daisy  and  Fanning  assembled,  and 
Tolman  shut  the  door. 

"Fan,"  he  said  abruptly,  "how  much  is  there  between 
you  and  Diantha?" 

"A  good  deal,  sir." 

"Are  you  engaged?" 

"No,  sir." 

"I  don't  want  you  to  play  into  her  hands.  Do  you 
hear?" 

"I  don't  follow  you."  (Fan  was  standing  at  atten- 
tion, stiff  and  tense,  and  his  mother  was  watching  his  face 
with  adoring  eyes.) 

"I'm  seldom  angry.  I've  never  been  angry  at  Diantha 
before." 

" What's  annoyed  you,  father?  My  falling  in  love 
with  her?" 

"Rubbish!     You  fall  in  love  every  three  weeks.     No, 


232  THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS 

I'm  angry  at  the  plot  they're  trying  to  involve  you 
in." 

"You'd  better  tell  me  what  plot.  Diantha  couldn't  be 
in  a  plot  if  she  tried;  it's  ridiculous." 

"I  learned  this  morning,"  said  Tolman,  slowly  but  with 
vehemence,  "that  Vesey  Powell  is  going  around  Chicago 
bolstering  up  his  credit  by  stating  that  his  daughter  is 
going  to  marry  you;  and  the  two  thousand  he  paid  me 
the  other  day  was  borrowed  on  the  strength  of  that 
statement." 

"Why — why—"  stammered  Fan.  "But  we're  not  en- 
gaged." 

"The  man  that  told  me  said  Powell  shows  letters 
written  from  abroad  by  Amy  and  Diantha,  to  corrobo- 
rate his  tale." 

"Di  never  wrote  that,  I'm  sure." 

"I  shouldn't  think  Amy  would  either.  Are  you  sure 
3'ou're  perfectly  frank  in  saying  you're  not  engaged? 
Can  they — have  you  given  them  reason  to  think  you're 
bound?" 

"I  never  discussed  it  with  Cousin  Amy.  Diantha  knew 
I  was  going  to  ask  her  to  marry  me  as  soon  as  I  felt  I 
was  in  a  position  to." 

"She  has  taken  a  good  deal  for  granted,  then,  in  her 
letters." 

"She  had   a   perfect   right   to,"   said  Fan   loyally. 

"You  think  she  had  a  right  to  give  her  father  the  in- 
formation to  use  in  his  business,  before  you'd  so  much  as 
mentioned  it  to  your  mother  and  me?" 

"I'm  pretty  sure  she  didn't  do  it,  sir;  and  I'm  positive 
she  didn't  mean  to." 

"A  fine,  clean  man  of  business  you've  picked  for  a 
father-in-law!"  said  Tolman.  "Fan,  it's  perfectly  un- 
thinkable !  You'll  ruin  your  whole  life  if  you  go  on  with 
this.  He'll  drag  you  through  the  dirt,  and  you'll  be 
helpless  against  him." 

"Oh,  he's  not  that  bad,  Father !  He  doesn't  do  things 
on  purpose." 


THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS  233 

"On  purpose!  On  purpose?  I  suppose  you  think  he 
didn't  move  to  Chicago  six  or  seven  years  ago,  and 
settle  down  at  our  kitchen  door,  for  this  very  purpose, — 
to  be  as  close  to  us  as  possible,  and  work  us  for  every 
cent  he  could,  and  climb  on  our  shoulders  instead  of 
standing  on  his  own  legs?  That  man's  as  crooked  as  a 
pretzel,  Fan,  and  this  baiting  his  trap  with  Diantha  is 
his  pet  scheme!" 

"I'd  like  to  see  those  letters,  Father." 

"I  haven't  got  them,  my  boy,  and  I  won't  ask  Vesey 
to  let  me  look  at  them;  but  I  don't  see  what  difference 
it  makes.  Whether  they're  authentic  or  not,  they  show 
you  what  you're  marrying  into." 

"Fan  isn't  even  considering  marriage  yet,  Tolman," 
breathed  Daisy,  consolingly ;  "he  says  so  himself." 

"He's  considered  it  enough  to  talk  about  it  and  let 
other  people  talk  about  it,"  said  his  father.  "I  want 
him  to  consider  it  a  whole  lot  more  before  he  goes  ahead. 
I  don't  say,  one  way  or  the  other,  that  Diantha's  to 
blame;  just  as  likely  she  knows  nothing  about  it;  but  as 
sure  as  you  marry  Diantha  you  marry  her  father;  and 
he's  not  the  bashful,  shrinking  type." 

"I  can  hardly  answer  you  in  a  minute,"  said  poor  Fan. 
"Perhaps  she  and  I  could  go  off  somewhere.  You  can't 
ask  me  to  give  her  up;  she's  the  best  thing  in  my  life, 
the  very  highest.  No,  you  couldn't  expect  that." 

"Why,  Fan,"  said  his  mother,  "you  know  you're  al- 
ways falling  in  love.  Only  last  week  it  was  Suzette.  I 
have  eyes, — don't  think  I'm  blind.  You  may  think  this 
feeling  of  yours  is  permanent,  but  I  know  better.  I 
prophesy  you  won't  marry  for  years  yet." 

"Suzette !"  he  said,  and  shuddered.  "Would  you  rather 
I  married  her?" 

"Dear  boy,  at  least  Cora  Jessey  is  a  more  presentable 
'in-law'  than  Vesey,  or  Mat,  or  Herby." 

"I'm  TIO*  marrying  them  !'* 

"In  a  very  real  sense  you  are." 

"Fan !"  Tolman  interrupted.     "You  can  think  this  out 


234  THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS 

yourself;  if  it  was  any  friend  of  yours  whose  case  you 
were  considering,  you'd  see  it  in  a  flash.  You  can't  live 
away  from  here.  Your  family,  your  position,  your 
logical  future  are  here  in  Chicago.  Your  place  is  half- 
made  for  you  already ;  and  if  you  talk  about  doing  good, 
— God  knows  I  want  you  to  do  good; — you  can't  do  any 
growing  except  where  your  roots  are.  Now  you  take 
time  to  this  and  look  at  all  sides  of  it.  You've  got  to 
consider  what  your  mother  says,  that  you've  always  been 
fickle  about  your  love  affairs.  That's  one  point.  Then 
I  want  you  to  go  over  your  whole  business  career,  point 
by  point,  as  far  as  you  can  see  it,  and  estimate  just  how 
often  Vesey  Powell  will  throw  a  monkey-wrench  into  the 
machinery  at  the  very  moment  when  you  ought  to  be 
able  to  count  on  a  father-in-law  for  help.  You  must 
size  up  Diantha,  whether  or  not  she's  square  about  this ; — 
I  mean,  you've  got  to  think  how  much  influence  her  family 
can  bring  to  bear  on  you  through  her.  I  don't  ask  you 
to  decide  anything,  I  just  ask  you  to  come  to  some  con- 
clusions, and  then  tell  me  what  they  are." 

Daisy  gave  her  husband  a  look,  warning  him  to  say 
no  more. 

"If  you'll  lend  me  your  roadster,  Fan,"  he  said,  "I'll 
drive  your  mother  out  to  the  game.  You  stay  here  where 
you  can  be  alone." 


XIV 

EDDIE  had  been  in  Alaska  beyond  reach  of  the  tele- 
graph, and  when  two  or  three  days  after  his  father's 
return  he  walked  into  the  Michigan  Avenue  house,  he 
expected  to  live  among  holland  furniture-covers  and  dine 
under  the  eye  of  Joshua  and  Lucinda.  To  his  amazement 
the  rugs  were  down  and  the  portieres  up. 

"Dad !"  he  shouted  incredulously. 

"Ahoy  there !"  answered  a  voice  from  above ;  and  he 
bounded  upstairs  into  his  father's  room,  where  Edgar 
stood  nonchalantly  beside  the  hearth.  They  met  de- 
lightedly, and  eyed  each  other  up  and  down. 

"Tired  but  healthy,"  was  Eddie's  verdict.  "You've 
come  back  into  the  world  of  men  for  keeps." 

"You're  the  same  ugly  old  fellow,"  Edgar  said,  shak- 
ing his  son  affectionately  by  means  of  an  arm  laid  across 
his  shoulders.  "You  ought  to  have  come  with  us  and 
got  a  little  Continental  polish." 

"I  thought  I'd  be  a  nuisance.  I — I  wanted  Di  to  have 
a  good  crack  at — 

"So  that  was  it!  Why,  Eddie,  you've  never  been  so 
very  forth-putting  before  that  you  distracted  Di's  atten- 
tion from  her  good-looking  beaux." 

"Well,  everybody  changes,  and  so  do  I.  I've  got 
past  the  point  where  I  can  be  around  where  Di  is,  and 
keep  still." 

"I'm  afraid  you  haven't  much  of  a  chance,  old  man." 

"Happy  ending,  eh?  Well,  I  suppose  that's  what  I 
wanted." 

But  all  the  same  his  head  sank  a  trifle,  and  he  plunged 
his  hands  to  the  remotest  depths  of  his  pockets. 
235 


236  THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS 

He  had  not  grown  handsome  with  advancing  years, 
though  he  was  tanned  and  vigorous  after  his  summer. 
To  the  end  of  Eddie's  days  some  of  his  joints  would  be 
unduly  heavy  and  others  unnecessarily  loose ;  and  the 
suit  yet  remained  to  be  made  which  should  quite  conform 
to  his  proportions.  His  neck  was  long,  his  jaw  large 
and  deep ;  his  eyebrows  bristled  straight  across  his  face. 
And  he  was  self-conscious  about  his  ugliness,  some  ironic 
spirit  having  decreed  that  he  should  be  the  victim  of  a 
sculptor's  craving  for  form  and  symmetry. 

But  after  the  summer's  separation  Edgar  could  see 
in  him  new  development  of  spirit,  new  force.  He  had 
always  been  remarkable  for  tenacity,  and  for  dogged  pur- 
suit of  his  own  lines ;  but  now  one  had  an  impression  that 
he  had  passed  through  the  five-finger  exercises  and  begun 
to  feel  his  instrument.  He  was  losing  his  repression — 
perhaps  his  power  of  repression.  Never  before  had  he 
spoken  to  his  father  of  his  cult  of  Diantha. 

"You  perplex  me,"  said  Edgar.  "Like  the  rest  of 
my  ducklings,  you  are  outgrowing  me."  It  was  later; 
they  had  dined,  talked  out  their  current  bulletins ;  the 
goldfish  were  mouthing  and  sweeping  with  extreme  languor 
across  the  last  rays  of  daylight  that  filtered  into  their 
tank. 

"You  accept  the  changes?" 

"I  accept  all  God's  gifts." 

"I  used  to  walk ;  now  I  run.  Or  say  I  used  to  swim 
with  those  pumped-up  things,  now  I  float." 

"You  used  to  be  tongue-tied;  now  you  chatter  about 
your  soul." 

"Not  chatter !"  said  Eddie,  hurt,  perceptibly  withdraw- 
ing into  himself. 

"You  seem,"  said  his  father,  slowly,  "to  have  tasted 
of  the  Tree  of  the  Knowledge  of  Good  and  Evil." 

"If  you  call  it  that,"  said  Eddie,  without  dropping  his 
eyes,  "perhaps  I  have.  I  have  admitted  a  lot  of  things 
to  myself.  I  have  seen  what  people  are,  in  the  rough." 


THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS  237 

"The  analogy  fails,  however;  with  our  first  parents, 
knowledge  was  succeeded  by  shame." 

"I  live  in  a  more  sophisticated  age  than  our  first 
parents.  .  .  .  That  apple  wasn't  entirely  evil,  you  know; 
it  taught  them  to  understand  goodness,  too.  .  .  ." 

"Tell  me  about  Fan  and  Di." 

"Easier  asked  than  answered,"  said  Edgar;  however, 
he  described  the  events  of  the  summer. 

"Wait  till  you  see  her ;  she's  exquisite.  Victory  perches 
on  her  banners ;  and  it  enhances  her  complexion." 

"So  I  suppose,"  said  Eddie  dryly. 

The  next  morning,  nevertheless,  when  in  the  middle  of 
breakfast  Diantha  walked  in  upon  them,  her  complexion 
was  not  remarkable  for  brilliancy. 

"Cousin  Edgar,  I've  been  lonesome  without  you,"  she 
began ;  then  she  saw  Eddie,  and  interrupted  herself  to 
welcome  him,  with  an  unpoetic  hug.  Obviously  he 
hampered  her  further  confidences ;  but  he  permitted  him- 
self fifteen  minutes  of  her  company  none  the  less.  He 
must  look  at  her,  and  perhaps  guess,  if  she  would  not 
tell  him,  just  why  she  looked  less  radiant  than  his  father 
had  described  her,  and  why  perhaps  the  sacrifice  of  his 
summer  had  not  borne  perfect  fruit. 

"Have  some  grapes.'* 

"Thank  you."  She  pushed  her  veil  up  over  the  end 
of  her  nose,  and  stood  beside  the  table  with  a  cluster  in 
her  hand,  discarding  the  empty  skins  on  Eddie's  butter- 
plate.  "How  are  you  getting  on  without  your  secretary?" 

"What!  are  you  back  looking  for  work  already?  That 
wasn't  your  attitude  in  Grenoble." 

"This  house  is  a  cloister  I  like  to  flee  to,"  she  said, 
looking  at  the  far-from-monastic  Victorian  elegance  of 
her  surroundings. 

"Do  you  want  to  escape  the  world,  Di?"  asked  Eddie. 
"I  supposed  it  looked  pretty  good  to  you." 

"I  get  tired," 


238  THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS 

"I  wish  you  were  more  of  a  fighter,"  said  Edgar,  with 
meaning. 

"Thank  the  Lord  she's  not!"  cried  his  son.  "There 
are  plenty  of  bull-necked  huskies  in  this  town  already." 

"Fan  thinks  I'm  no  good  in  a  fight." 

"Everybody  thinks  so,  because  it's  true,"  Edgar  an- 
swered. "I  don't  say  but  what  you're  a  pleasanter  little 
secretary  as  you  are ;  but  you  do  need  somebody  to  stand 
between  you  and  the  crush.  Come,  tell  us  the  North  Side 
news." 

"Ah1  my  family  are  well,"  said  Diantha.  "They  seem 
to  have  got  on  splendidly  without  us.  Herby  has  had 
a  raise,  and  bought  a  second-hand  Ford  for  a  hundred 
and  sixty  dollars;  I  think  he  means  to  keep  it  in  the 
parlor  when  winter  sets  in,  but  at  present  he  leaves  it 
standing  under  a  tree  out  in  front  of  the  house.  He  says 
nobody  will  steal  it,  and  he  seems  to  be  right,  for  nobody 
has,  so  far." 

"Herby 's  an  odd  offshoot,  isn't  he?" 

"Why  odd?" 

"Because  he's  so  far  removed  from  all  oddity.  He's 
a  composite  photograph  of  a  healthy  young  American." 

"I  hope  all  young  America's  as  solid  nutriment  as 
Herby  is,"  Eddie  put  in. 

"Mat,"  resumed  Diantha,  "did  the  polite  and  graceful 
when  we  arrived  home,  but  he's  off  again  now;  he  has 
what  he  calls  a  studio  apartment  down  near  the  river. 
I  think  it's  just  a  room." 

"Is  he  married?" 

"Not  that  he's  mentioned.  He's  dying  to  see  you, 
Eddie;  he  says  the  'Rag'  is  going  stale  for  lack  of  red 
blood." 

"I'll  stop  in  at  the  office  this  morning." 

"Have  you  seen  all  Tolman's  gang?"  asked  Edgar. 

"Most  of  them.  Josie's  amazingly  good-looking  this 
fall.  Christine  has  another  baby,  you  know.  I  was  over 


THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS  239 

at  Cousin  Tolman's  for  luncheon  Saturday,  and  we 
went  out  to  the  football  game." 

"Did  Fan  drive  that  rangy  roadster  he  missed  so  in 
Europe?" 

"Fan  wasn't  along." 

"Oh,"  said  Edgar.     There  ensued  a  marked  pause. 

"You  know,"  said  Diantha,  "the  Jesseys  are  visiting 
Cousin  Daisy." 

"Aha !    Was  he  sparking  the  lovely  Suzette?" 

"No,  she  was  on  our  party.  I  don't  know  where  Fan 
went.  I — I  haven't  seen  him  since." 

It  was  then  Tuesday  morning.  A  second  pause  oc- 
curred, and  Eddie  saw,  until  he  looked  away,  that  her 
Jip  was  trembling. 

"Probably  Tolman  sent  him  out  of  town  on  business." 

"I  wonder  if  he  did.  He  came  in  during  lunch  Satur- 
day and  said  he  wanted  to  speak  to  Fan  and  to  Cousin 
Daisy." 

"Very  likely  that's  it,"  said  Edgar,  thinking  very  likely 
it  was  not.  "Rhoda !  Tell  Cornelius  I  shall  want  the 
electric  at  ten." 

"I  ought  to  go,"  said  Di. 

"Can't  you  let  Hickory  Place  run  itself  twenty  minutes 
without  you?" 

"I  want  to  be  at  home." 

"Rubbish !  if  he  telephones,  it  will  do  him  good  to  find 
you  out  and  have  to  call  again;  and  if  he  stops  in,  he 
can  wait.  I'll  drive  you  as  far  as  downtown  when  I  start ; 
I'm  going  over  to  the  bank  to  speak  to  Tolman  about  some 
business." 

"Cousin  Edgar !"  said  Di,  with  a  start.  "Don't  speak 
to  him  about  me,  will  you?" 

"Do  you  think  you're  the  only  topic  I  discuss  with  my 
brother?" 

She  smiled  at  him,  and  dropped  the  subject.  Plainly  she 
was  no  fighter. 


240  THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS 

"Sit  and  talk  to  me,"  said  Eddie,  "while  Dad  feeds  his 
creatures  upstairs." 

"I  must  get  them  to  know  me  again,"  murmured  Edgar, 
retiring  from  the  room.  (He  stoutly  maintained  that  his 
approach  drew  forth  an  expression  of  intelligence  and 
affection  on  the  bulbous  features  of  his  fish.) 

Eddie  had  thought  about  Diantha  all  summer  under 
pines  and  rocks  and  Northern  Lights,  and  had  assured 
himself  that  he  was  going  to  hold  the  mastery  in  his 
further  dealings  with  her.  If  she  was  engaged  to  Fan, 
well  and  good ;  if  not,  he  was  going  to  make  love  to  her  "in- 
stead of  treating  her  like  an  ikon" ;  and  with  half  a  globe 
between  them,  he  had  felt  an  amazing  confidence  in  his 
power  to  win  her  and  hold  her. 

Now  here  she  sat  before  him,  piling  sugar  lumps  into 
little  cottages  on  the  table-cloth;  and  whether  she  was  en- 
gaged or  free,  happy  or  unhappy,  she  was  still  as  far  re- 
moved from  him  as  Kamchatka.  In  her  presence,  he  was 
again  the  prey  of  his  worship,  his  breathlessness  and 
wonder.  Di  must  be  happy !  and  Fan  must  make  her 
happy !  even  though  he,  Eddie,  were  driven  to  break  a 
way  to  his  brain  through  his  recreant  skull.  He  must 
look  out  for  her,  "stand  between  her  and  the  crush" — but 
who  was  he  to  think  of  bothering  her  with  his  love? 

"How  are  your  sculps,  Eddie?"  she  was  asking. 

"I  gave  myself  a  vacation,  so  as  to  grow  up  to  my  tech- 
nique." 

"Had  you  too  much  technique?  I  shouldn't  have  said 
that  was  your  trouble." 

"I'm  learning  to  see  things  as  they  are." 

"Dear  Eddie,  you'll  never  do  that  if  you  live  to  be  a 
thousand." 

"You  think  so?  Perhaps  you'll  let  me  put  it  this  way 
then : — I'd  been  seeing  things  more  complex  than  reality ; 
now  I'm  reacting  to  see  them  more  simple." 

"You  must  beware,"  she  said,  quoting  Fan,  "of  artificial 
simplicity." 


THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS  241 

"Di,  was  your  trip  a  success?" 

"Oh,  Eddie,  such  a  beautiful  success !  A  dream  .  .  . 
Home  is  a  little— a  little  bit  flat  after  it." 

"You  thought  the  dream  would  go  on." 

"The  dream  does  go  on,"  she  answered,  stoutly,  "but 
not  the  strangeness.  There's  a  sort  of  usuality  about 
Hickory  Place." 

|     "We  carry  our  own  universe  around  on  our  backs,  you 
know." 

"That  sounds  well,  Eddie,  and  you'd  better  put  it  in  the 
'Rag.'  But  Chicago  is  the  well-worn  center  of  my  uni- 
verse, and  the  Alps  are  the  glorious  horizon,  that  you 
touch  perhaps  once,  and  then  look  back  to,  forever  .  .  . 
you  see  them  towering  behind  you,  with  the  sun  in  their 
eyes  .  .  ." 

"You  could  probably  write  nicer  poetry  than  Mat 
does." 

"Oh,  no.  When  I  tell  you  about  the  Alps,  I  speak  out 
of  the  very  middle  of  my  heart,  because  I  want  you  to  see 
something  with  me;  I  couldn't  talk  to  the  whole  external 
world,  as  one  does  in  poems." 

"My  child,  you  are  growing  up." 

"I'm  pretty  nearly  twenty." 

"I'm  just  as  near  twenty-one;  twenty's  nothing." 

"If  my  conversation  is  growing  up,  it  comes  from  living 
with  your  father.  He  is  the  most  inspiring  man  in  the 
world  to  me." 

"Spiritually  I  think  you're  more  his  daughter  than  I'm 
his  son.  He's  found  you  ductile  and  yet  responsive,  and 
human  without  being  unreasonable  .  .  ." 

"Eddie,  he  simply  adores  you." 

"Of  course  he  does,  and  I  adore  him;  but  I  don't  give 
him  nearly  the  fun  molding  my  character  that  you  do  ... 
I  just  go  my  own  way,  and  announce  it  to  him  afterward." 

"I  wonder  if  I've  changed  much  under  his  fingers? 
What  would  I  have  been  like  if  I'd  grown  up  without  know- 
ing him?" 


242  THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS 

"You  mean,  how  much  of  you  is  you?" 

"Yes,  and  how  much  is  Hickory  Place,  and  Mother  and 
Father— 

"How  is  your  Father?"  he  asked,  noting  a  swift  con- 
traction of  feature  as  she  mentioned  him. 

"He's  splendid;  weighs  a  hundred  and  ninety;  you'd 
laugh  if  you  saw  him.  He's  enchanted  to  have  Mother 
back."  One  gathered  that  Amy  had  deserted  Vesey;  this 
was  the  Hickory  Place  convention.  "There's  one  awful 
thing,  though.  You  know  he  used  to  play  the  violin  when 
he  was  young?  Well,  he  took  it  up  again  this  summer 
while  he  was  alone,  and  one  can  hardly  sit  in  the  house 
while  he's  practising.  He  says  he  knows  just  as  well  as 
we  do  when  he's  off,  but  Mat  and  I  think  that's  a  mistake, 
because  if  it  sounded  the  way  to  him  it  does  to  us,  he 
couldn't  possibly  keep  on  doing  it." 

"Are  you  going  to  work  for  Dad  this  winter?" 

"I'm  not  sure.  Don't  tell  him,  but  I  think  I'll  try  for 
an  office  job  downtown.  I'd  like  the  experience." 

"No,  Di !"  said  Eddie,  very  loud. 

"Every  man  in  this  family  is  determined  I  shan't  go 
into  an  office.  What's  the  matter  with  offices?" 

"Nothing  at  all,  except  that  you're  so  fragile,  and  you 
can't  look  out  for  your  own  interests." 

"Then  I  deserve  to  be  snowed  under,"  said  Diantha, 
rather  bitterly. 

"Nonsense!  It's  a  matter  of  suitability.  People  don't 
use  sponge-cake  for  paving-stones." 

"Well,  we  shall  see.  I  may  be  a  great  deal  solider  than 
you  suspect.  I've  got  just  as  much  Plymouth  Rock  in  my 
system  as  you  have,  good  cousin." 

"Bosh !  You're  an  individual,  and  I'm  an  individual, 
and  our  heredity  has  nothing  to  do  with  us.  Look  at  you 
and  your  parents ;  look  at  me  and  my  parents ;  look  at 
Herby,  look  at  Mat; — same  ancestors  as  you  exactly. 
They  never  deal  the  same  hand  twice." 

"Then  you  mean  I  could  have  been  the  same  Diantha 


THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THEl  POWELLS  243 

Powell  if  my  father  had  been  a  Finn  and  my  mother  a 
Patagonian?" 

"You  can't  prove  that  you  wouldn't  have  had  the  very 
same  soul  put  into  you." 

"I  wonder,"  said  Diantha. 


XV 

TUESDAY  passed,  and  Wednesday  morning.  Twenty 
times  Diantha  had  gone  to  the  telephone  to  call  Fan,  but 
her  courage  had  failed  her.  She  had  spent  several  sleep- 
less nights,  tormented  by  jealousy;  she  had  endured  the 
deepening  oppression  of  four  days  of  silence.  The  sum- 
mer's color  and  fire  had  left  her ;  she  was  all  weariness. 

On  Wednesday  afternoon  she  and  Amy  were  in  their 
sitting-room,  darning  a  gross  or  so  of  Vesey's  socks  which 
had  accumulated  during  the  interregnum,  when  she  caught 
sight  of  Fan  coming  up  the  steps.  Giddy  with  the  revul- 
sion of  feeling,  she  found  him  holding  her  hand,  saw  him 
sitting  down  between  her  and  her  mother,  and  playing  with 
the  blue  celluloid  darning-egg. 

"Did  you  think  I'd  been  run  over  by  the  street  cars?" 
he  asked.  She  gave  him  a  smile. 

"I've  been  frightfully  busy,"  he  said.  He  looked  tired 
and  upset. 

Amy  was  pondering  the  most  graceful  way  to  get  out 
of  the  room  with  her  baggage-train,  when  a  key  rattled  in 
the  latch,  and  the  father  of  the  family  bustled  into  his 
domicile.  He  was  whistling  as  he  appeared  in  the  door- 
way. 

"Aha!"  he  cried.  (His  new  corpulence  made  him  re- 
semble a  mature,  sleek  mandarin  of  doubtful  probity.) 
"What's  this  I've  been  hearing,  Fan?  Amy!  didn't  you 
ever  learn  'two's  company,  three's  a  crowd'?  We  ought 
to  have  two  parlors.  Come  on  out  in  the  kitchen  and  tell 
me  the  news." 

He  propelled  Amy  and  her  darning-basket  through  the 
door ;  but  before  closing  it  he  darted  back  to  wring  Fan's 
244 


THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS  245 

hand,  with,  "Seriously,  dear  boy,  I'm  delighted.  I've 
watched  you  grow  up,  and  you're  as  worthy  of  her  as 
anyone  could  be." 

Diantha  saw  that  her  father  was  creating  a  painful 
impression,  but  she  was  used  to  that,  and  she  did  not 
know  why  Fan  was  white-lipped. 

"Does  he  think  we're  engaged?"  Fan  asked,  whirling  on 
Diantha  when  they  were  alone. 

"Apparently." 

"Did  you  tell  him  so?" 

"Fan,  don't  you  know  Father?  He's  always  living  in 
some  house  of  cards.  I  didn't  suppose  he  knew  anything 
about  us ;  but  obviously  he's  not  only  heard  things,  but 
he's  jumped  at  conclusions." 

"I've  been  pretty  nearly  crazy."  Fan  was  tramping  up 
and  down  the  tiny  room,  falling  over  footstools  and 
tangling  his  feet  in  stray  socks. 

He  had  come  prepared  to  tell  her  that  his  father  dis- 
liked hers,  and  to  urge  her  to  begin  life  with  him  in  some 
other  city.  To  bring  himself  to  this  point  he  had  visual- 
ized a  thoroughly  unbalanced  group  portrait  of  the 
Powell  family,  with  Di  showing  pinkly  in  the  center  of 
the  canvas,  and  Vesey  obscured  in  the  background. 

But  now,  face  to  face  with  reality,  this  composition  had 
altered.  He  saw  Di  divested  of  her  cream-satin  and 
pearls,  a  drab  child  in  a  room  quaint,  cluttered,  slightly 
dingy.  What  illumination  there  was,  Vesey  had  arrogated 
to  himself,  and  any  picture  which  focussed  around  him 
was  bound  to  lack  charm.  One  doubted  whether  mere 
distance  could  separate  the  enraptured  Vesey  from  a 
son-in-law. 

Fan  did,  in  effect,  see  himself  for  a  moment  as  his 
father  had  advised — through  the  eyes  of  some  imper- 
sonal friend ;  and  he  saw  himself  absurdly  allied  to  a  clan 
of  Impossibles.  It  will  be  remembered  that  the  boy  had 
never  been  brought  face  to  face  with  necessity,  that  for- 
tune had  smiled  on  him  through  school  and  college,  and 


246  THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS 

that  his  standards  were  quite  naturally  the  standards  of 
his  class — unbelievably  narrow  and  unreal.  The  facing 
of  a  complicated  situation  was  one  sport  for  which  he 
had  never  been  coached. 

At  the  instant  Vesey  shut  the  door,  Fan  knew  that  he 
was  not  going  to  propose  to  Diantha,  and  his  only 
craving  was  to  spare  her  what  pain  he  could.  Di  loved 
him,  certainly,  but  not  as  he  had  loved — not  as  he  did 
love — her;  so  he  thought.  He  must  shield  her  sensitive- 
ness in  regard  to  her  father,  he  must  not  hurt  her  in 
any  way, — the  darling,  drooping  little  thing. 

"I've  worried  about  you,"  said  Diantha.  Her  lips  were 
so  dry  she  had  difficulty  in  speaking. 

"What  will  you  say,  darling,  if  I  tell  you  it's  no  go?" 
He  sat  down  and  took  both  her  hands,  which  trembled,  as 
did  his. 

"Suzette?"  he  whispered. 

"As  much  Suzette  as  anything.  I  couldn't  make  you 
happy." 

"Oh,  Fan!"  she  said.     "Anything  but  that!" 

He  wished  he  had  told  her  the  real  reason.  Suzette 
had  not  crossed  his  mind  since  Saturday,  and  as  a  matter 
of  fact  she  and  her  aunt  were  about  to  leave  for  happier 
hunting-grounds.  But  he  was  half-committed  to  the 
story,  and  it  seemed  the  better  of  the  two. 

"I'm  not  worth  bothering  with." 

"I'm — sorry — you  don't  love  me."  As  she  spoke,  she 
could  not  prevent  two  tears  from  starting  down  her 
cheeks. 

"You're  the  only  girl  I  can  ever  love!"  he  said. 

"Then  you're  talking  nonsense,"  she  answered  drearily. 

"I  suppose  so.  I  wish  I  could  explain  everything  to 
you,  but  it  wouldn't  be  any  use." 

"Then  we'd  better  say  good-by,  Fan." 

"I  don't  wonder  you  feel  that  way,"  he  said.  Never 
had  he  wanted  to  kiss  her  as  much  as  at  that  moment. 


THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS  247 

He  thought  if  he  had  to  go  away  without  convincing  her 
that  he  loved  her  with  his  whole  heart,  he  could  not  face 
his  life.  And  yet  in  the  tumult  of  his  feelings,  some  last 
gleam  of  fairness  kept  him  aloof. 

"You're  well  rid  of  me.  When  we're  both  sixty  years 
old,  perhaps  we  can  talk  about  this ;  I  couldn't  bear  it 
any  sooner.  You'll  think  about  me,  and  I'll  think  about 
you.  Now  there  are  two  things  you  must  believe,  when 
I  tell  them  to  you;  and  you  must  always  believe  them. 
Will  you?" 

She  nodded,  her  eyes  in  his. 

"One  is  this :  we  could  never  have  been  happy  together. 
I  know  that,  because  I  know  myself  and  you  both.  And 
the  other  is  this :  you  may  think  I'm  as  crazy  as  a  loon ; — 
but  I  love  you  now,  and  I've  loved  you  every  minute  since 
Redgate,  and  I  expect  I'll  love  you  as  long  as  I  have  any 
memory." 

"Do  go  away." 

He  rose  and  walked  to  the  door,  where  he  stood  look- 
ing at  her  for  some  time,  unable  to  force  himself  to  go. 

"I  wish  we  could  run  like  lightning  out  of  all  this!" 
he  muttered  savagely. 

"It  would  be  very  silly.  You  don't  love  me.  You  don't 
want  to  marry  me.  Nothing  could  be  sillier." 

All  at  once  he  lost  his  resolution.  Striding  back  to 
her,  he  demanded  in  a  very  low  voice,  "You  think  I  don't 
love  you?" 

"I  know  you  don't,"  she  said,  and  then  found  herself 
standing,  with  his  arms  around  her. 

"Perhaps  we're  both  a  little  bit  crazy,"  she  suggested, 
wiping  her  eyes  on  his  handkerchief.  "Now  you'd  better 
go  along,"  and  she  gave  a  tiny  laugh  which  frightened 
him. 

Eventually  he  did  go.  It  was  the  most  garbled  of 
partings.  They  were  never  to  see  each  other  again— 
and  yet  perhaps  they  were;  he  loved  her, — she  could  not 


248  THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS 

help  believing  that, — and  yet  Suzette  had  managed  to 
come  between  them ;  there  was  no  solution  possible — yet 
one  might  be  found ;  nothing  was  clear  to  Diantha. 

After  an  interview  with  his  father,  Fanning  left  that 
night  for  the  Kansas  City  office,  where  he  passed  the  least 
enviable  of  winters,  hating  himself,  hating  his  father  and 
mother  and  Diantha's,  hating  the  Jesseys,  rebelling 
against  circumstances  and  yet  more  and  more  certain 
that  under  the  same  conditions  he  could  not  have  acted 
otherwise;  writing  notes  to  Diantha  and  tearing  them  up; 
throwing  Suzette's  occasional  screeds  into  the  scrap  bas- 
ket, and  then  answering  them  out  of  a  sense  of  the  in- 
justice he  had  done  her  in  Diantha's  eyes. 

At  the  core  of  his  unhappiness  lay  the  admission  that 
he,  who  was  used  to  considering  himself  a  leader  and  a 
man  of  initiative,  had  lost  control  of  events.  He  had 
been  allowed  the  artificially  restricted  freedom  of  a  chess- 
man, free  to  swagger  and  ruffle  his  crest  just  in  so  far 
as  he  preserved  an  immutable  tradition — two  squares 
west  and  one  square  north,  or  for  variety,  two  squares 
north  and  one  west. 

Nothing  in  "track"  or  crew  or  clubs  had  taught  him 
the  science  of  cutting  Gordian  knots.  He  knew  some 
one  might  have  had  strength,  resolution,  enough  to  carry 
Diantha  off  and  break  relations  with  her  bugbear  parent. 
He  was  not  man  enough  to  put  through  such  an  enter- 
prise. 

No,  he  had  been  Daisy's  and  Tolman's  chessman, — per- 
haps Edgar's  too ;  and  they  had  maneuvered  him  out  of 
harm's  way.  He  had  even  some  sentiment  of  gratitude 
for  his  rescue;  but  with  it  much  humiliation. 

Sore  and  baffled,  disliking  his  own  conduct,  he  withdrew 
his  mind  as  far  as  possible  from  Suzette  and  Diantha 
alike, — from  the  whole  sordid  tangle.  The  very  fact  that 
his  extreme  range  of  idealism  had  been  touched  during  the 
days  at  Grenoble,  made  the  unfulfilment  more  bitter.  The 
experience  had  poisoned  his  mind,  made  it  several  degrees 


THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS  249 

more  cynical  and  less  receptive  to  fine  impressions.  His 
healthy  young  organism  labored  subconsciously  to  throw 
off  the  virus  which  was  alien  to  him;  and  as  months 
elapsed,  he  did  regain  his  poise,  and  learned  to  look  back 
without  over-emphasis,  if  without  poetry,  on  the  events 
of  the  autumn. 


XVI 


ON  Hickory  Place,  meanwhile,  there  was  less  potent 
anodyne  for  memory.  A  winter  passed  which  could  only 
be  called  hideous  to  Diantha ;  and  for  once  the  reasons 
were  subjective.  Amy  was  well  after  her  trip,  Vesey 
brought  home  money,  and  with  Herby  and  Mat  both  earn- 
ing their  living,  they  could  afford  a  maid-of-all-work,  and 
offer  Diantha  a  "winter  at  home." 

It  would  have  been  far  better  for  her  had  she  been 
forced  to  earn  her  living.  The  ineluctable  recurrence 
of  nine  o'clock  in  the  morning  would  have  precluded  in 
a  measure  the  vigils  and  brooding  to  which  she  gave  her- 
self over. 

Except  for  the  strained  situation  between  the  Mar- 
riotts and  the  Powells,  Daisy  might  have  given  Diantha 
some  unpretentious  coming-out  party,  and  thrown  her 
among  new  acquaintances ;  but  silence  reigned  unbroken 
between  the  two  houses  from  Thanksgiving  to  Christmas, 
and  thence  into  the  spring.  She  was  in  no  mood  to  seek 
untried  friends,  and  all  those  whom  she  valued  had  come 
to  her  through  the  Marriott  connection.  Her  snobbish- 
ness at  school  had  not  yet  been  forgiven,  and  when  by 
chance  she  encountered  classmates,  even  though  she  might 
secretly  feel  wistful,  her  reserve  settled  over  her  like  ice, 
and  she  drew  curt  greetings  without  sequels. 

Her  father,  of  course,  was  discursive  on  the  analogy 
between  her  character  and  her  mother's,  in  their  common 
inability  to  clinch  a  deal;  for  no  one  on  Hickory  Place 
doubted  that  Fanning  had  jilted  Diantha  rather  than 
she  him;  her  countenance  was  a  walking  indictment  of  his 
infidelity.  To  hear  Vesey  orate  on  a  conclusive,  satis- 
250 


THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS  251 

factory  love-scene  as  pictured  by  his  imagination,  was 
but  doubtful  consolation.  He  likewise  took  delight,  per- 
haps not  consciously  malign,  in  practising  on  his  violin 
the  well-known  folk-song: 

"Forsaken,  forsaken,  forsaken  am  I, 

Like  a  stone  by  the  wayside  neglected  I  lie." 

and  of  all  the  assaults  upon  her  nerves  this  was  perhaps 
the  shrewdest. 

It  is  to  be  borne  in  mind  that  she  had  never  been  given 
as  clear  a  view  as  had  Fan  of  their  rupture.  The  only 
explanation  he  had  offered  was  a  mysterious  phrase  or 
two  about  Suzette,  which  were  not  to  preclude  her  be- 
lieving he  still  loved  her  devotedly.  She  did  so  believe; 
continued  to  believe  it  with  an  immediacy  such  as  Fan, 
in  his  contact  with  the  exterior  world,  could  not  main- 
tain. She  lived  half  in  ecstatic  dreams  of  reconciliation, 
in  which  "everything"  was  explained,  by  one  means  or 
another.  Fan  little  knew  how  much  Di  would  have  for- 
given in  the  way  of  peccadilloes  and  philanderings,  and 
how  poor  an  excuse  he  had  lit  upon  for  the  severing  of 
diplomatic  relations.  The  longer  they  remained  apart, 
the  more  simply  she  saw  him,  the  more  believingly  recalled 
what  he  had  said  to  her  about  her  eyes  and  her  soul  and 
their  future. 

Some  beautiful  event  must  come  to  pass ! 

So  she  thought;  and  yet  as  days  became  months,  with 
no  word  from  him,  the  reality  of  loneliness  forced  itself 
upon  her.  She  revolved  plans  for  approaching  him,  but 
they  were  dream  plans ;  she,  unlike  her  lover,  had  had  no 
training  in  initiative,  and  any  hint  of  reality  was  over- 
laid with  the  listlessness  of  misery.  It  was  not  possible 
to  her,  especially  after  the  blow  to  her  pride  and  the 
subsequent  drubbing  of  her  father  and  her  family  on 
the  same  bruised  spot,  to  be  more  than  a  passive  sufferer. 
The  meek  Amy,  herself,  would  not  in  her  young  days  have 
let  her  happiness  slide  without  a  braver  tussle  to  hold  it. 


252  THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS 

The  fortunes  of  the  "Red  Rag"  varied,  but  not  for 
their  permanent  betterment.  After  Christmas  Mat  found 
it  convenient  to  give  up  his  studio  and  live  at  home  again ; 
and  he  and  Diantha  had  many  little  bouts  over  his  maga- 
zine. She  professed  scorn  for  it.  "It's  Laodicean,'*  she 
told  him.  He  purpled  with  fury.  His  good,  radical 
magazine  neither  hot  nor  cold?  .  .  .  Red-hot,  he 
thought. 

"Yes,"  said  Diantha,  turning  the  leaves  of  the  latest 
issue,  "but  it  contradicts  itself,  and  weakens  its  own 
effect." 

"You  confuse  author  and  editor,  like  all  greenhorns." 

"Like  the  public,  you  mean.  The  'Rag'  has  always 
been  an  entity  and  spoken  with  one  voice; — in  several 
languages ; — but  it's  had  one  point  of  view,  and  that's 
been  its  strength.  Now  it  talks  differently  out  of  two 
sides  of  its  face." 

"Show  me." 

"Here's  this  editorial  on  the  New  Matrimony.  Bigoted, 
but  arresting.  Then  there's  an  article,  making  fun  of 
those  very  theories : 

"Making  fun?— how?" 

"Oh,  very  slyly.  Perhaps  you  haven't  read  it  care- 
fully; if  you  glanced  hastily  at  the  article  you  might 
overlook  the  irony." 

"Let  me  see,"  said  Mat,  taking  the  paper  from  her, 
and  running  an  eye  over  Claudine  Chesbro's  latest.  The 
truth  was  that  he  had  sent  her  (she  was  now  visiting 
outside  of  Baltimore)  the  editorial  before  publication, 
and  she  had  returned  with  it  the  very  article  of  which 
Diantha  was  speaking,  as  a  bolster  to  his  argument. 
Either  she  was  not  writing  ironically,  or  she  had  hit  his 
prejudices  and  susceptibilities  so  exact  a  tap  that  he  had 
thought  the  blow  came  from  Truth's  own  hammer. 

Which? — Mat  scattered  his  lank  fair  hair  with  his 
hands,  and  strove  to  study  impersonally  the  writing  in 
question.  He  would  not  gratify  Diantha  by  asking  her 


THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS  253 

further  to  justify  her  criticism,  but  he  tried  to  detach 
himself  and  read  with  the  eye  of  the  public ; — to  discover 
whether  to  the  lay  mind  Claudine  rang  true  or  not. 

It  need  not  perhaps  be  said  that  Claudine's  sincerity 
was  to  Mat  a  question  of  exaggerated  importance.  Dur- 
ing her  Chicago  stay  she  had  honored  him  with  more 
of  her  friendship  than  she  was  able  or  willing  later  to 
withdraw ;  she  had  let  him  plumb  her  soul  in  his  analysis 
of  witcheries,  and  had  certainly,  at  times,  taken  the  boy 
seriously,  crudities  notwithstanding.  He  told  her,  and 
she  believed,  that  she  had  done  him  good ;  indubitably  she 
had  cut  new  facets  in  the  prism  through  which  he  re- 
garded the  world.  His  foremost  vanity  was  the  belief 
that  he  understood  Claudine;  and  this  confidence  was  not 
unfounded,  being  upheld  by  intuitions  whose  justice  she 
had  been  forced,  with  surprise,  to  admit. 

Herby  had  now  passed  his  eighteenth  birthday,  and 
was  earning  $110  a  month.  No  one  could  call  him 
brilliant,  nor  was  his  aspect  distinguished;  but  he  was 
clever  with  his  hands  and  with  the  mechanical  part  of 
his  brain;  his  heart  was  kind  and  his  character  honest. 
If  Amy  had  been  capable,  like  Claudine,  of  irony,  she 
might  have  laughed  to  see  this  son  she  had  brought  into 
the  world,  who  embodied  with  so  little  grace  her  thirst  for 
respectability  and  reliability.  Herby  was  reliable  to  a 
fault ;  he  was  even  respectable,  but  the  respectability  was 
of  the  sort  which  sheltered  itself  behind  utter  nullity. 

He  had  something  of  Fanning's  physique,  broadened 
and  toughened ;  he  had  much  of  Fanning's  coloring.  But 
a  more  stolid  expression  one  seldom  sees  on  a  human 
countenance;  its  frankness  was  fairly  bovine.  His  wide 
mouth  habitually  smiled  a  little.  He  had  taken  to  wash- 
ing his  face  and  hands  again,  and  to  brushing  his  rough 
tawny  hair.  His  gait  was  the  loose,  capable  stride  of  a 
good  workman. 

Since  his  family  had  ceased  trying  to  make  a  gentle- 
man out  of  him,  his  sullenness  and  wildness  had  disap- 


254  THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS 

peared.  The  day  when  he  told  them  of  his  ambitions  had 
been  the  breaking  of  a  dam,  and  now  that  his  mechanical 
tendencies  had  free  course,  his  disposition  ran  as  even  as 
a  canal.  He  fell  without  resistance  into  the  habits  of 
speech  of  his  associates,  and  lost  in  a  measure  the  preci- 
sion of  New  England  accent  which  the  rest  of  the  Powells 
retained.  In  fact,  he  showed  no  impress  of  any  particular 
heredity;  certainly  one  would  not  have  taken  him  for  the 
descendant  of  Puritan  lawyers  and  divines,  and  Colonial 
governors. 

At  seven  o'clock  of  an  evening  the  room  which  Mat 
and  Herby  shared  was  an  anomaly.  Herby  would  be 
rolling  down  the  sleeves  of  his  flannel  shirt  following  a 
last  struggle  with  the  patina  of  black  grease  on  his  fore- 
arm, while  Mat  wriggled  to  see  in  the  low  mirror  the 
success  of  his  white  tie.  Mat  went  out  to  dinner  a  great 
deal,  and  in  his  evening  clothes  he  was  acquiring  a  certain 
bizarre  elegance. 

He  never  brought  his  literary  friends  to  the  house, 
preferring  when  he  entertained  to  eat  garlic  at  restau- 
rants ;  but  he  did,  rarely,  take  Diantha  out  to  cheer 
her  up.  These  parties  were  regarded  by  himself  and 
his  colleagues  as  duties  rather  than  pleasures,  and  it  must 
be  admitted  that  Di  made  little  effort  to  please. 

She  struck  them  as  formal  and  dull,  when  as  a  matter 
of  fact,  apathy  and  distaste  were  all  that  prevented  her 
from  giving  them  back  some  of  their  own  conversational 
coin ;  she  had  not  frequented  Edgar's  society  for  nothing. 
But  her  ideal  was  distinct  before  her  mind,  and  since  it 
represented  a  young  gentleman  of  the  most  Apollo-like 
beauty,  and  of  consummate  good  breeding,  Mat's  friends 
struck  her  as  inferior. 

Edgar  Marriott  was  not  as  large  a  part  of  her  life 
as  heretofore.  Constraint  lay  between  them,  because  of 
the  subject  which  had  never  been  talked  out  satisfac- 
torily; and  Edgar  was,  to  tell  the  truth,  almost  as  dis- 
gusted with  Diantha  as  with  Fan. 


THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS  255 

"Something  is  lacking  in  the  girl,"  he  said  to  Eddie. 
"She  has  no  push"  For  he  too  was  assured  that  the  rift 
had  not  been  of  Diantha's  making.  "I  can't  do  every- 
thing," he  continued.  "I  sacrificed  myself  all  summer  to 
throw  them  together.  She  had  the  situation  in  her  own 
hands,  if  she'd  used  ordinary  human  intelligence.  Suzette 
Jessey,  forsooth!  Fan  has  sense  enough  to  set  the  right 
value  on  a  minx  of  her  type.  There's  more  to  it  than 
Suzette." 

"Fan  never  did  have  eyes  to  see,"  replied  Eddie,  whose 
sympathies  were  all  on  the  side  of  his  unresourceful 
cousin.  "But  he's  punishing  himself." 

"He's  punishing  her.  She's  so  wispy  and  droopy,  it 
makes  me  uncomfortable  to  look  at  her.  And  I  can't  talk 
to  her  for  fear  of  treading  on  her  feelings.  She's  pre- 
Victorian, — something  like  Fanny  Burney's  young  ladies. 
You  expect  her  to  weep  or  faint  any  moment." 

"She's  intensely  feminine,"  said  Eddie. 

The  word  'feminine'  to  Edgar  connoted  some  of  his 
wife's  qualities,  the  cruelty,  the  provocative  charm;  so, 
disappointing  as  Diantha  had  been,  he  was  hardly  will- 
ing to  apply  the  derogatory  adjective.  "I  shouldn't  call 
her  feminine  so  much  as  feeble,"  he  protested. 

"Diantha's  not  feeble,  Dad !"  exclaimed  his  son,  in  out- 
raged tones.  "I  grant  you  she's  ethereal,  and  she  doesn't 
know  how  to  handle  herself  in  this  brutal,  stupid  world; 
but  she  has  strength  the  way  a  growing  plant  has,  or  a 
running  stream." 

"Have  it  your  own  way,  my  child.  You  think  I'm 
cross  at  Diantha  because  I'm  not  fond  of  her;  but  it's 
because  I'm  too  fond,  and  I  had  my  heart  set  on  that 
match." 

"Did  you  ever  consider  the  desirability  of  her  marry- 
ing me?"  asked  Eddie,  hoarsely  and  uncomfortably. 

"Dear  boy,  I  never  knew  till  this  fall  that  you  cared 
about  her." 

"Well,  what  do  you  think  about  it  now?" 


256  THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS 

"She  certainly  wouldn't  have  you  at  present,  Eddie. 
Whether  she  ever  will  I  can't  say.  I'm  going  to  keep  my 
hands  off,  anyway ;  I'm  tired  of  playing  God  Almighty." 

It  was  during  this  winter  that  Eddie,  whose  art  had 
always  a  propagandist  quality,  modeled  the  statuette 
dear  to  feminists,  which  young  Luty  Herron,  Christine 
Marriott's  son,  christened  "A  Gentleman  Stepping  on  a 
Lady."  It  was  cast,  and  exhibited  at  an  art-gallery, 
and  was  photographed  and  reproduced  far  and  wide;  for 
in  1913  Woman's  Suffrage  was  a  live  issue.  Eddie  per- 
suaded Diantha  to  go  in  with  him  one  day  to  look  at  it. 

He  told  her  its  name,  and  she  laughed.  The  Lady  was 
a  fragile  person  who  had  been  picking  flowers  and  was 
still  holding  them. 

"It's  as  interesting  as  can  be,"  she  said,  after  walk- 
ing around  it  several  times,  with  a  countenance  devoid 
of  expression,  "but  honestly,  Eddie,  do  you  believe 
gentlemen  do  step  on  ladies  ?  You  wrong  your  sex." 

"Bless  your  heart !"  thought  Eddie  to  himself.  "Don't 
you  know  when  you've  been  stepped  on?  Or  is  it 
bravado?" 

He  concluded  it  was  the  latter. 

On  a  certain  winter  evening  Josie  made  one  of  a  party 
which  had  strolled,  in  pale  velvet  wraps  and  the  cor- 
responding masculine  trappings,  to  a  movie,  between 
dinner  and  a  late  dance.  As  they  were  drifting  home- 
ward down  Division  Street,  making  merry  and  causing 
considerable  comment  from  the  passers-by,  a  saloon  door 
swung  open,  and  three  young  men  came  out,  two  in 
sweaters  and  one  in  a  suit.  They  were  perfectly  sober, 
but  just  cheerful  enough  to  find  subject  for  amusing 
comment  in  the  Gold-Coast  party  which  was  confronting 
them.  The  girls  drew  slightly  together,  their  escorts  im- 
perceptibly closed  around  them. 


THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS  257 

All  at  once  a  frank  and  natural  voice  was  heard  to 
exclaim:  "Why,  it's  Josie !  Hello,  there." 

The  stripling  at  Josie's  side  was  about  to  leap  forward 
in  protest,  when  she  caught  his  arm. 

"Hello,  Herby!"  she  answered.  "How's  the  family?" 
and  the  two  groups  moved  in  their  respective  directions. 

"Who's  your  friend?"  asked  a  facetious  youth  in  front 
of  her. 

"He's  not  a  friend,"  said  Josie,  dryly,  "he's  a  blood- 
relation." 

The  moment  was  felt,  by  all  concerned,  to  be  em- 
barrassing. All,  that  is,  but  Herby,  who  as  he  passed  on 
informed  his  friends  that  his  cousin  seemed  to  be  looking 
healthy,  but  that  he  had  never  liked  her  very  well. 

In  due  course  Edgar's  monograph  was  lopped  of  its 
excrescences,  recast  as  a  magazine  article,  and  accepted; 
and  in  March  he  summoned  Diantha  to  read  the  proof 
for  him  and  verify  the  quotations.  It  was  a  brief  task, 
but  it  gave  her  thoughts  new  material,  besides  reviving 
memories  of  Grenoble. 

"I  think  I  must  get  a  job,"  she  said,  during  an  inter- 
ruption due  to  her  making  tea  for  Edgar  and  Eddie. 

"You'd  better  come  back  and  work  for  me.  If  I  had  a 
secretary  again  I  might  be  goaded  into  writing  another 
article — a  whole  series  of  articles." 

"Thanks,  I'm  after  real  work  this  time;  no  tea- 
parties." 

"Diantha's  right,"  put  in  Eddie,  unexpectedly.  "This 
sort  of  family  job  isn't  what  she  needs." 

Diantha,  though  grateful  for  his  support  of  her  posi- 
tion, wondered  if  Eddie  was  another  person  who  had  not 
approved  her  conduct.  She  knew  well  enough  that  Edgar 
was  disappointed, — though  how  to  have  done  better  was 
an  art  in  which  he  had  never  instructed  her. 

While  they  were  talking  discursively  of  shorthand  and 


258  THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS 

its  uses,  a  commotion  was  heard  in  the  hall,  a  step  on 
the  stairs,  and  to  the  horror  of  everyone,  Fanning  sud- 
denly entered  the  room. 

"Back  for  the  week-end,  Uncle  Edgar !"  he  shouted ; 
then  the  briefest  of  seconds  elapsed  before  he  continued, 
"How  bully  to  run  into  you,  Diantha!  I  was  just  going 
to  call  you  up." 

"How's  everything,  Fan?"  she  answered.  The  two 
Edgars,  watching  her  seriously,  applauded  her  com- 
posure. She  did  not  know  that  every  drop  of  blood  had 
left  her  face,  so  that  the  veins  showed  blue  against  dead- 
white. 

"Oh,  everything's  slick  now  I'm  home.  I've  been  bored 
stiff  all  winter.  Three  lumps  and  lemon,  please." 

"I  know,"  she  said. 

"Are  you  going  back  again?"  asked  Edgar. 

"A  month  more,  and  then  Father's  going  to  take  me 
into  the  office  here.  Golly,  Chicago  looks  good !  And 
what  do  you  think?  Mother's  worked  a  two  weeks'  holi- 
day out  of  Dad  for  me,  between  jobs.  She  says  I'm  ex- 
hausted. She  and  I  are  going  down  to  White  Sulphur. 
Pretty  smooth,  don't  you  say?" 

Fan  was  talking  rapidly  to  cover  his  discomfiture,  and 
was  deeply  conscious  of  Diantha, — deeply,  and  yet  not 
dreadfully.  He  was  getting  through  better  than  he  had 
expected  .  .  . 

Listening  to  intonations  and  almost  to  pulse  beats, 
Edgar  knew  that  the  elements  of  reconciliation  were  not 
abroad.  He  rightly  diagnosed  his  nephew  as  conval- 
escent, and  unlikely  to  relapse.  And  when  Diantha,  less 
intuitive  than  he  for  the  moment,  began  artlessly  adjust- 
ing her  plans  to  have  Fanning  take  her  home,  Edgar  was 
anxious  to  spare  her  a  definite  humiliation. 

"You  said  you'd  drive  over  with  me,"  he  told  her.  It 
was  true.  "I  have  to  go  to  Lucy  Gregg's  to  tea  any- 
way. Why  don't  you  let  me  take  you  both  back?" 

"Oh,  Cousin  Edgar!"  thought  Diantha,  reproachfully. 


THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS  259 

She  expected  Fan  to  offer  to  drive  her  home  in  spite  of 
him.  But  Fan's  car,  it  appeared,  was  in  Kansas  City ;  he 
had  come  over  in  the  family  limousine,  which  had  gone 
back ;  and  he  was  most  grateful  for  a  lift  from  his  uncle. 

On  the  return  trip  he  made  it  clear  that  from  that 
moment — Friday  afternoon — to  Sunday  evening,  his 
mother  had  made  engagements  for  him  for  every  instant ; 
so  he  might  not  see  either  of  them  again;  but  it  was 
great  to  catch  this  glimpse  .  .  .  And  as  he  escorted 
Diantha  from  the  electric  to  her  own  door,  he  said 
cordially,  "Next  time  I'm  home,  we  must  certainly  have 
a  party.  Don't  you  get  all  dated  up !" 

A  whiff  of  boiled  cabbage  greeted  them  as  she  stepped 
inside.  He  returned  to  his  uncle's  electric,  shaking  him- 
self like  a  collie. 

Edgar,  with  a  surreptitious  eye  upon  him,  thought  that 
perhaps  Diantha  had  not  lost  any  incalculable  treasure 
in  losing  him;  but  since  she  was  foolish  enough  to  want 
him,  he  would  willingly  have  spanked  the  boy  for  his  re- 
calcitrancy. 


XVII 

THE  events  of  the  rest  of  that  spring  are  soon 
chronicled.  At  the  end  of  six  weeks,  just  before  the 
return  of  Daisy,  Josie  and  Fan  from  White  Sulphur,  a 
note  came  for  Di  in  Fan's  adored  hand.  The  hope  that 
continued  to  flicker  on  her  altar  blazed  up  in  one  last 
gust  as  she  saw  the  envelope. 

"Dearest  Di," — it  ran, — 

"I  don't  want  you  to  hear  this  from  anybody  but  me, 
and  I  want  you  to  know  it  right  away.  I  am  engaged  to 
Chloe  Dunbar  from  New  York.  She  is  such  a  wonder 
.  .  ."  etc. 

"Besides  being  so  happy  on  account  of  me  and  Chloe, 
I  am  delighted  because  now  you  and  I  can  be  friends 
again.  That  was  a  big  mistake  we  made  last  summer.  It 
was  beautiful,  and  I  know  you  wouldn't  have  missed  it 
any  more  than  I  would ;  but  we  can  both  see  by  now  how 
unsuited  we  were  to  each  other — in  that  way.  We  were 
meant  to  be  friends;  you've  been  more  of  a  sister  to  me 
than  any  of  my  own  sisters ;  and  from  this  time  on  we'll 
be  friends.  I've  told  Chloe  all  about  you,  and  she  wants 
to  meet  you.  She's  coming  on  to  Chicago  soon  to  visit 
us,  and  it  will  be  announced  then.  We  think  we'll  get 
married  in  June  or  July. 

"I'm  fairly  nutty,  I'm  so  happy.  I  enclose  a  snap-shot 
— isn't  she  a  peach?  Do  write  her  one  of  your  bully 
letters. 

"One  thing's  sure — she'll  be  able  to  keep  me  out  of  mis- 
chief. No  Suzettes  these  days,  I  can  tell  you !  I  have 
to  stand  around. 

"Let  me  give  you  some  advice,  dear  old  Di.  You  go  and 
260 


THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS  261 

get  engaged  as  fast  as  you  possibly  can  to  the  right 
fellow.  You'll  know  the  minute  you  set  eyes  on  him. 
That's  how  it  was  with  Chloe  and  me.  There's  nothing 
like  it! 

"Tell  your  family,  if  you're  sure  they  won't  pass  it  on. 

"With  love, 

"Fan." 

In  due  course  Chloe  met  all  Chicago,  and  all  Chicago 
approved  the  match.  She  was  eminently  suitable,  big, 
good-looking  and  well-bred,  with  simple  manners  and  an 
excellent  education;  keen  about  out-of-door  life;  friendly 
without  effusiveness.  Chicago  meant  to  like  her. 

Daisy  Marriott  was  as  happy  as  a  three-year-old.  God 
had  rewarded  her  faith.  She  had  not  meddled  nor  inter- 
fered this  time; — it  was  a  love-match  from  the  first  day 
in  the  swimming  pool.  The  heir-apparent  had  been  saved 
from  a  morganatic  marriage  and  was  espousing  his  equal ; 
for  Chloe  had  money,  she  had  beauty,  she  had  health  and 
spirits,  she  had  distinguished  relatives,  she  was  an  aris- 
tocrat through  and  through. 

In  spite  of  heavy  going,  Chloe  and  Diantha  persisted 
in  trying  to  get  acquainted.  Chloe  made  a  last  effort 
when  she  asked  Diantha  to  be  one  of  her  ten  bridesmaids. 
After  Diantha  had  declined,  on  the  plea  that  she  could 
not  leave  the  position  Cousin  Edgar  had  recently  ob- 
tained for  her,  the  bride  postponed,  with  a  relieved  sigh, 
the  impossible  task  of  making  a  bosom  friend  of  her  hus- 
band's first  love. 

Fanning  beamed  upon  the  two  of  them, — again  like  a 
collie.  They  did  their  best  to  gratify  him;  but  Diantha 
would  not  deceive  herself ;  she  knew  that  she  and  Fanning 
could  never  be  friends  again. 


XVIII 

Di  was  not  the  only  person  who  found  fault  with  the 
"Red  Rag."  Its  old  subscribers  took  to  writing  angry 
letters  and  withdrawing  their  subscriptions ;  also  the 
office  received  an  unusual  proportion  of  articles  which 
their  authors  considered  suited  to  its  needs,  and  which 
proved  to  be  manifestations  of  the  Newer  Decadence. 

"We've  always  been  frank,"  said  Ames  to  Eddie,  "but 
even  I  have  never  advocated  Smut  for  Smut's  sake! 
What's  the  matter  with  these  people?" 

Eddie  held  for  the  "Rag"  the  feeling  which  loyal  col- 
lege men  have  for  their  alma  mater.  But  even  he  could 
not  help  mourning  a  little  for  "the  old  days,"  and  he  lay 
awake  of  nights  planning  how  best  to  recoup  the  maga- 
zine's lost  moral  eminence. 

Material  difficulties  were  likewise  to  be  faced.  The 
previous  year  the  staff  had  considered  it  wise  to  buy  a 
share  in  a  printing  establishment,  and  had  borrowed  the 
money  from  well-disposed  plutocrats ;  the  debt  was  to  be 
amortized  out  of  the  saving  in  operation.  Inexplicably, 
however,  the  saving  failed  to  materialize;  and  Ames, 
Eddie  and  Garrity  were  uncertain  whether  to  lay  the 
blame  on  legitimate  advances  in  cost  of  production,  or 
on  some  looseness  in  the  management.  Mat  was  of  their 
counsels,  but  they  could  not  make  him  take  the  situation 
seriously.  So  long  as  the  interest  on  the  loan  was  paid 
he  would  not  worry  over  the  principal.  "Every  business 
carries  a  certain  debt,"  he  would  say.  "We're  as  sound 
as  a  bank.  Don't  be  penny  wise." 

Edgar,  with  whom  Eddie  discussed  some  of  these 
points,  and  who  had  an  intimate  interest  in  the  loan, 


THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS  263 

heard  with  a  sinking  heart  these  words  of  a  true-born  son 
of  F.  Vesey  Powell. 

"You  might  tell  him,"  said  Edgar,  "that  banks  have 
tangible  assets.  You  borrowed  money  without  security 
at  the  start,  you  know ;  and  your  debt  is  fairly  top-heavy 
by  now.'* 

"It's  that  damned  Claudine,"  Ames  concluded.  The 
conservatism  natural  to  editors  was  settling  upon  him, 
and  he  could  have  done  with  less  of  what  he  crudely 
termed  her  "putrid  iridescence."  At  the  next  staff  meet- 
ing he  advocated  dropping  her  from  the  list  of  con- 
tributors, and  was  met  by  Mat's  resignation.  Had  it  not 
been  for  Eddie,  the  "Red  Rag"  would  have  split  then 
and  there,  but  he  was  roused  to  eloquence;  he  recalled  to 
them  their  hopes,  their  responsibilities,  and  their  achieve- 
ments, he  played  on  their  loyalty.  The  breach  was 
healed;  Claudine  was  limited  and  censored,  but  not  abol- 
ished; and  for  several  months  the  feeling  throughout  the 
office  was  almost  that  of  the  halcyon  days. 

Eddie  saw  a  great  deal  of  the  Powells  that  next  winter, 
and  occasionally  his  father  regretted  having  thrown  them 
so  closely  together;  he  feared  Mat's  influence  on  his  boy. 
But  Eddie  had  grown  into  a  man,  and  knew  his  mind; 
and  he  adhered  to  both  Mat  and  Diantha. 

With  regard  to  Mat,  one  could  hardly  call  Eddie  all 
disciple  or  all  guardian.  It  was  Mat's  quicker  brain 
which  had  first  formulated  the  manifestoes  of  the  "Rag," 
and  Eddie  owed  him  his  social  creed;  but  the  principles 
Mat  laid  down  half  by  conviction  and  half  by  flair,  had 
rooted  deeper  in  Eddie's  nature  than  in  his  own,  so  that 
now  Eddie  found  himself  often  in  a  position  to  confirm 
Mat's  shallower  faith,  and  hold  him  up  to  his  convictions. 
The  dogged  fidelity  Eddie  felt  toward  his  beliefs  linked 
him  to  Mat,  therefore,  in  two  distinct  relationships. 

As  to  Di,  the  situation  was  simpler.  Following  Fan's 
marriage,  he  had  gone  back  to  his  old  attitude  of  con- 
secration. He  concurred  in  his  father's  judgment  that 


264  THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS 

Diantha  would  not  have  anything  to  do  with  him — that 
she  was  not  in  a  state  to  bear  love-making  from  anyone. 
All  his  feeling  was  fused  in  an  immense  pity  and  tender- 
ness, and  he  gave  himself  without  effort  to  making  her 
existence  a  little  more  varied  and  tolerable.  He  took 
her  about,  introduced  her  to  people,  tried  his  best  to 
make  his  friends  attentive  to  her,  by  way  of  spreading 
balm  upon  her  self-respect.  She  leaned  upon  him  in 
return,  made  him  certain  half-confidences,  and  trusted 
him  absolutely. 

One  Sunday  afternoon  they  were  walking  home  from 
a  concert.  Their  way  led  them  through  a  twilight 
feathery  with  falling  snow. 

"My  mistake,"  said  Diantha,  "was  in  hurling  myself  at 
his  head." 

"Di,  you're  absurd.  The  reason  Dad  was  mad  at  you 
was  because  you  didn't  hurl  yourself  hard  enough." 

"You  don't  know.  I  very  distinctly  made  advances 
to  him." 

Eddie  laughed.  "I'd  like  to  see  you  making  what 
you'd  call  advances." 

"You  may  take  my  word  for  it,"  said  Diantha  with 
dignity.  "On  a  bridge  in  Paris.  My  weapon  should  have 
been  passivity." 

"I  wish  you'd  stop  mulling  over  what's  past  and  over. 
It's  downright  indecent,  now  he's  married — and  most 
happily  married,"  he  added  with  intentional  harshness. 
"If  anything  ever  was  foreordained  it  was  you  and  Fan 
separating.  He's  forgotten  all  about  you." 

She  walked  along  without  speaking,  and  he  felt  com- 
punction. "Di !"  he  cried. 

"Everybody  has  gone  back  on  me, — and  now  you 
too!"  she  exclaimed, — "Fan,  and  all  his  family,  and 
Father  and  Cousin  Edgar.  Go  away — just  go  away 
and  leave  me  alone.  There's  no  reason  for  me  to  live — 
there  isn't  a  person  in  the  world  that  really  cares  about 
me. 


THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS  265 

"Do  you  think,"  she  went  on,  "I'd  humiliate  myself 
thinking  over  and  over  again  about  Fan,  if  I  did  matter 
in  the  least  to  anybody  at  present?  I'm  just  an  extra 
person." 

"Di,  Di!"  Incredible  that  she  should  believe  it, — 
that  she  should  not  know  how  large  a  place  she  filled  in 
his  life,  or  his  father's ! 

"When  I've  thought  about  you  every  minute  for  the 
last  five  years!"  he  said  aloud.  He  had  decided  he  had 
something  to  give  her  after  all. 

"I  don't  want  to  bother  you  if  you'd  rather  not  be 
bothered,"  he  said,  "but  if  you  feel  that  way  I  want  to 
tell  you  it's  unjust  to  all  of  us.  We  do  care  about 
you." 

"Oh,  I  know,"  said  Diantha,  relenting  quickly,  "you 
and  Cousin  Edgar  have  been  wonderful,  and  I  couldn't 
have  got  on  without  you." 

"You  mustn't  think  it's  charity  or  pity." 

"I  don't,  truly.  I  take  back  what  I  said;  I  was  just 
tired." 

"But  you  did  believe  it,  or  you  couldn't  have  said  it. 
Di,  do  you  mind  my  telling  you  that  you've  been  a  little 
bit  stupid  about  that?" 

"About  what  specially?" 

"Well,  about  me." 

"No,  no,  Eddie.  You  know  how  I've  depended  on 
you." 

"You've  been  blind  all  these  years  to  how  I  felt. 
Why  do  you  suppose  I  dog  your  footsteps  as  I  do?" 

"Why  .  .  ." 

"You've  taken  me  for  granted.  You've  never  seen 
that  from  the  minute  I  set  eyes  on  you,  on  Grand- 
father's front  steps,  you've  been  more  to  me  than  you 
ever  were  to  Fan." 

"Oh,  how  could  I  have  guessed  that?" 

"I've  poured  out  my  heart  to  you  and  worshiped 
you  .  .  ." 


266  THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS 

"Don't  say  things  like  that  to  me." 

"Not  if  they're  true?  Di,  I  don't  want  to  hurt  you 
— I'd  rather  kill  myself  than  hurt  you — but  if  I  thought 
I  could  make  you  care  about  me  the  way  you  did  about 
Fan,  I'd  never  give  you  a  moment's  peace." 

Diantha  was  amazed  beyond  measure. 

"You've  been  perfectly  darling,  Eddie,"  she  said, 
"And  I'm  glad  you  didn't  let  me  guess  about  it  till  now. 
I'm  a  little  bit  sorry  I  know,  because  now  things  won't 
be  the  same  between  us  either." 

He  took  this  without  surprise  as  his  answer,  and  set 
himself  to  reassure  her. 

"I  wouldn't  have  told  you  if  I  thought  you'd  be  so 
silly  as  that.  Things  will  be  just  the  same.  I  don't 
ask  anything  of  you  except  just  to  see  you.  I  didn't 
think  you  could  give  me  any  more  than  that." 

"It   doesn't   seem   exactly   fair,   Eddie." 

"I'm  the  judge  of  that.  .  .  .  Perhaps  you're  sorry  I 
said  what  I  did." 

"I'm  sorry  you  feel  that  way  and  I  don't." 

But  after  all,  she  was  not  only  sorry  but  glad. 


PART  IV 


NOTES   BY   EDGAR   MARRIOTT 

Redgate,  Jwne,  1914. 

I  USED  to  think  I  could  spend  my  declining  years  out 
here;  but  there  is  a  staleness  coming  over  the  place. 
It  is  admitted  that  urban  existence  overdevelops  the 
nerves  and  atrophies  the  soul,  but  I  have  a  more  per- 
sonal distaste  for  this  particular  spot  than  such  gen- 
eralization will  account  for. 

It  is  the  monument  of  my  credulities.  When  Naomi 
and  I  built  here,  we  believed  in  wide  sunset  horizons, 
solitude,  and  our  immortal  souls.  To-day,  since  my 
forebears  have  bred  into  my  marrow  an  unshakable  as- 
sumption of  that  permanence,  my  peevish  brain  justifies 
it  not  by  any  dignity  in  us,  worthy  of  perpetuation,  but 
by  my  feeling  that  if  God  can  pity  as  I  can  pity,  He 
must  regret  the  cases  of  arrested  development  He  sees 
clustered  about  His  footstool:  they  are  not,  so  far,  a 
workmanlike  job. 

I  do  not  admit  that  we  are  unperfectible.  There  is 
still  a  remnant  in  me  of  my  second  growth  of  credulities, 
which  sprouted  around  my  young  flock.  The  first 
summer  I  had  them  out  here,  it  seemed  to  me  that  they 
had  every  chance  of  growing  into  a  super-race.  Few 
and  small  hurdles  stood  in  their  way,  instead  of  the 
direct  barriers  that  blocked  my  father,  for  instance, 
or  to  less  extent  myself.  Those  details  were  under  my 
267 


268  THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS 

control, — so  I  thought.  A  little  weeding  out,  a  little 
pruning  and  grafting, — so  Burbank  builds  a  new  flower. 
Creation  is  not  a  closed  book. 

So  I  still  think:  and  yet  I  suspect  myself  to  credulity; 
certainly  I  have  to  accuse  myself,  otherwise,  of  being  an 
inexpert  gardener. 

Fan, — as  I  imagined, — possessed  all  human  blessings 
except  a  brain,  and  a  window  toward  the  peaks.  Brains 
I  meant  to  contribute, — call  it  a  grafting  process,  in 
the  figure  of  speech, — and  Diantha  was  to  be  the 
clear  pane  through  which  he  should  see  stars  and  snow- 
caps. 

Well!     I  am  not  omnipotent. 

Diantha  needed  to  ride  on  a  full,  free  current  of 
life.  .  .  .  She  has  not  had  the  strength  to  sustain  its 
urgency.  Perhaps  I  have  broken  her. 

As  to  Josie,  poor  dear,  I  never  gave  her  my  full  atten- 
tion. Perhaps  she  might  have  developed  a  soul  if  I  had 
poked  her  through  the  eye  of  a  needle;  but  I  thought 
her  shoulders  were  too  broad  to  make  such  an  attempt 
plausible.  Frankly,  Josie  is  too  completely  her  mother's 
child  to  attract  my  love. 

Why,  I  wonder,  do  I  give  Tolman  credit  for  a  soul? 
Because  he  is  my  father's  son?  He  is  a  good  man,  a 
strong  man,  but  so  completely  adapted  to  his  environ- 
ment as  to  leave  an  amateur  deity  no  handle  to  worry 
him  by.  An  Edgar  Marriott,  not  his  brother,  would 
probably  say  that  Tolman  had  already  attained  his 
spiritual  capacity.  But  I  see  Tolman  with  the  eyes  of 
Father  and  Mother,  who  thought  him  capable  of  being 
the  greatest  man  in  the  world.  I  picture  Mother  among 
the  blessed,  surveying  his  bald  and  grizzling  pow  with 
slight  annoyance  because  he  has  not  run  for  President, 
nor  even  been  suggested  for  the  nomination. 

What  if  Tolman  had  married  Naomi  Cranston,  and 
I  Daisy  Pellew?  Unthinkable,  and  yet  perhaps  it  would 
have  given  a  better  chance  to  my  super-race ! 


THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS  269 

Mat  promised  to  do  well.  My  endeavor  was  to  tie 
him  to  a  line  of  conduct  that  would  give  play  to  what 
he  had  of  his  mother's  principle  and  his  father's  nimble- 
ness.  But  Mat's  "Rag"  would  now  be  bankrupt  except 
for  leniency  among  the  creditors ;  and,  far  from  dislik- 
ing the  condition,  he  gives  himself  airs  upon  its  solvency. 
The  paternal  strain  is  in  the  blood. 

Occasionally  I  ask  myself  what  Diantha  has  ever  done 
to  convince  me  of  her  electness,  except  look  beautifully 
fragile  and  fling  herself  upon  my  sympathy.  Amy  is, 
I  suppose,  far  nobler ;  but  her  qualities  irritate  me  and 
her  defects  enrage  me. 

I  myself  have  been  Eddie's  chief  stumbling-block,  and 
by  our  joint  efforts  I  am  pretty  well  obliterated  in  that 
capacity.  He  is  my  son ;  but  aside  from  that  he  will 
be  the  biggest  man  of  the  new  generation  of  Marriotts, 
and  Diantha  has  given  him  what  I  could  not.  No,  I 
am  not  discontented  with  Eddie. 

Di  came  down  over  the  week-end,  pale,  with  the  first 
marks  of  a  methodical  office  upon  her.  It's  a  pity  she 
has  to  be  cast  in  that  mold, — and  yet  she  lacked,  she 
so  painfully  lacked,  initiative  and  courage — ! 

"Honest,  generous,  brave  and  loyal!"  So  I  used  to 
exhort  them  to  be. 

Some  quality  besides  those  four  they  needed,  and  I 
never  gave  it  to  them.  Di  still  lacks  courage,  and  Mat 
still  lacks  honesty,  and  Fan  failed  once  in  loyalty;  and 
as  for  Herby  and  Josie,  they  have  not  ordinary  refine- 
ment. 

They  lead  little  lives;  they  are  masters  of  small  cir- 
cumstances. They  compare  themselves  with  their  fellows, 
instead  of  measuring  humbly  beside  the  greatest. 

When  they  are  grown  to  their  full  stature,  I  may 
find  I  have  done  them  injustice.  This  transition  from 
infinite  possibility  to  limited  completeness  exasperates 
me  to  the  soul. 


270  THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS 

June  18. 

Mat  sent  me  a  complimentary  copy  of  his  "Poems" 
this  morning;  and  I  find  with  amazement  that  I  am 
in  my  fiftieth  year.  I  am  no  longer  incapable  of  being 
scandalized.  He  should  be  tied  up  on  a  bread-and-water 
regime  in  some  dark  cellar  till  he  brings  forth  fruits 
meet  for  repentance.  .  .  .  Yes,  I  am  an  old  man — per- 
haps even  an  old  gentleman;  for  I  cannot  help  feeling 
that  the  book  is  an  insult  to  his  mother  and  his  sister, 
even  though  it  does  not  mention  them. 

It  comes  bound  in  coarse  paper  of  a  modified  petunia 
shade ;  it  is  dedicated  as  follows : 

TO  ASTARTE 

MALIGN  DIVINITY 

THRICE  WORSHIPED 

IN  ONE  ADORABLE  BODY 

REINCARNATE. 

Mat  does  not  follow  the  newer  school  of  stark  and 
exact  definition ;  nor  does  he  disdain  rhythm,  of  a  dis- 
tressful, lolloping  sort.  There  is  a  petunia-colored  re- 
fulgence over  the  whole  book, — it  is  Swinburne  of  the 
Corn-Belt.  And  Astarte,  or  Faustina,  or  Melusina,  as 
the  thrice-worshiped  divinity  is  indifferently  called,  is 
grotesquely  removed  from  reality,  in  spite  of  frequent 
anatomical  references. 

I  gather  that  critics  more  tolerant  than  myself  find 
not  only  promise  but  achievement  in  the  book.  If  he 
were  not  in  the  family  it  might  amuse  me:  but  I  had 
hoped  better  than  this  of  him. 

He  is  enslaved  by  his  own  not  highly  original  sensa- 
tions. Who,  I  wonder,  originated  the  doctrine  that 
there  was  literary  virtue  in  the  proclamation  of  experi- 
ence, as  such? 

He  has  got  beyond  my  influence;  he  must  work  out 


THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS  271 

his  own  damnation.  His  book  will  do  harm,  among  the 
tiny  circle  that  reads  poetry. 

I  thank  God  Eddie,  in  spite  of  their  long  association, 
has  retained  two  qualities,  sincerity  and  reticence. 

Also  some  sense  of  relative  values. 

We  wonder,  Eddie  and  I,  whether  Claudine  was  fore- 
ordained to  thwart  me: — raising  the  further  question  of 
a  dualistic  universe.  But  even  a  spirit  in  bondage  to 
Arimanes — if  such  she  is — must  experience  some  slight 
embarrassment  in  being  publicly  known  as  Marriott 
Powell's  Astarte. 


II 


August. 


THE  first  number  of  the  "Rag"  since  war  was  de- 
clared reached  me  to-day.  It  would  appear  tepid  and 
trivial,  did  I  not  know  it  to  be  dazed.  In  effect,  one  is 
not  built  to  receive  the  impression  of  an  entirely  new 
world,  a  world  in  flames. 

The  editors  oppose  and  neutralize  one  another  for  the 
moment.  Ames  remains  the  Compleat  Cynic, — he  would 
die  before  he  let  his  monocle  drop, — he  distrusts  the 
ingenuousness  of  the  Allies,  and  he  is  still  waiting  to 
sense  the  reaction  of  the  Intelligentsia,  so-called,  to  the 
catastrophe.  Mat  on  the  other  hand  is  girding  his  loins 
for  Armageddon ;  he  sees  angel  hosts  mustering  for  the 
last  battle ;  and  in  a  week  he  has  slipped  off  his  mantle, 
or  rather  his  domino,  of  cosmopolitanism.  And  Eddie 
sits  miserably  between  the  two,  hating  all  the  makers  of 
war  because  they  lay  a  red  hand  upon  fineness  and 
beauty. 

One  sympathizes  with  their  vertigo.  For  myself,  I 
am  a  midge  spinning  on  its  own  axis,  and  blown  afield 
by  gusts  of  wind.  I  read  without  digesting.  I  have, 
of  course,  lived  long  enough  and  trifled  sufficiently  with 
political  economy,  to  recognize  that  other  impulses  as 
well  as  honor  influenced  the  stand  of  France,  and  of 
Russia  and  of  England.  But  be  that  as  it  may,  they  are 
aligned  now  for  the  fulfilment  of  obligations  and  for 
that  deep  fairness  "which  is  more  God-like  than  mercy. 
Every  soul  that  hears,  reflects  and  has  the  power  to 
act,  must  march  to-day  under  the  God  of  light  or  the 
god  of  darkness. 

272 


THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS  273 

There  is  a  stirring  among  the  peoples  .  .  . 

To  some  great  issue  .  .  . 

Meanwhile  that  gasping  human  barrier  falling  back 
upon  the  Marne,  while  we  gather  our  forces  .  .  . 

We  ...  I  mean  we  as  human  beings ;  as  Americans 
we  are  no  more  involved  than  the  spectators  at  a  play; 
but  we  taste  of  pity  and  terror. 

People's  faces  are  strange.  They  have  been  keeping 
house  on  the  back  of  a  turtle,  assuming  him  to  be  a 
rock ;  and  now  that  he  has  extended  his  legs  and  walked 
onward,  the  motion,  the  changed  aspect  of  surrounding 
nature,  and  particularly  the  surprise,  give  them  a 
lugubrious  dizziness. 

November. 

Mat  is  utterly  unhinged.  He  was  here  for  three  hours 
this  evening,  and  I  let  him  talk  more  than  listen. 

I  must  premise  that  I  was  utterly  mistaken  as  to  his 
going  to  the  devil.  He  is  young,  and  for  all  our  good 
intentions  we  at  fifty  cannot  recollect  the  impressionable 
senses  of  twenty-three.  I  discovered  that  he  idealizes 
Claudine  for  her  good  tendencies  as  much  as  he  suffers 
over  her  evil  ones,  and  at  obscure  moments,  he  main- 
tains, he  and  she  exert  a  beneficial  influence  on  each 
other. 

But  their  creeds  diverge  and  drag  their  lips  apart, — 
if  I  may  be  permitted  a  line  of  blank  verse.  Claudine's 
creed  is  negation;  it  is  more  than  a  creed,  it  is  an  in- 
stinctive pose;  and  when  Mat  moves  her  to  admit  the 
validity  of  some  standard,  it  is  through  the  magnetic 
ascendency  of  a  lover.  She  relapses  in  his  absence; 
they  both  suffer.  Mat's  eyes  have  seen  the  glory  of  the 
coming  of  the  Lord;  and  it  is  only  a  matter  of  time 
till  he  stops  trying  to  show  it  to  her,  and  lets  her  exile 
herself  in  darkness.  Meanwhile,  as  I  say,  he  is  torn. 
His  belief  is  still  busy  shaking  itself  clear  from  hamper- 


274  THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS 

ing  skeins  and  tangles,  and  has  not  yet  answered  the  far 
appeal  to  action. 

For  one  thing,  whether  I  misjudged  him  or  not,  he 
does  now  realize  the  financial  responsibility  of  the  "Rag," 
of  whose  assets  his  brain  forms  an  inseparable  part. 
And  yet  he  is  out  of  sympathy  with  Ames  and  Eddie, 
and  they  all  stifle  each  other.  They  cannot  unite  on 
any  key  in  which  to  blow  a  fanfare;  and  now  if  ever  the 
public  thirsts  for  the  notes  of  clarions. 

Again, — and  it  seems  incredible, — Mat  does  recog- 
nize the  burden  of  his  family.  I  learn  for  the  first  time 
that  Vesey,  now  that  his  children  are  all  earning  money, 
has  withdrawn  from  active  commercial  life,  and  passes 
his  time  among  files  of  papers,  perfecting  some  scheme 
for  which  leisure  has  hitherto  been  denied  him.  He  takes 
long  walks,  he  practices  the  violin,  he  is  charming  to 
Amy,  who  is  blessed  with  his  company  around  her  house 
all  day.  The  Powells,  very  naturally,  can  barely  pay 
their  rent  out  of  the  pittances  which  the  children  are 
able  to  turn  into  the  household  fund;  with  Mat  gone, 
they  will  drop  below  the  water-line  again.  In  a  way  it 
seems  absurd  that  Tolman  should  not  pay  their  bills, 
as  he  has  done  in  the  past  and  is  amply  able  to  do ; 
and  yet  we  are  so  constituted  that  such  gifts  burden 
giver  and  taker.  And  I  am  glad  that  Mat  realizes  it. 

Memo:  Do  not  assume  to  pass  judgment  on  the 
limitations  of  your  young  relatives.  They  will  humiliate 
your  perspicacity. 

January,  1915. 

The  "Rag"  has  come  out  international,  pacifist,  and 
Mat  has  sailed.  Eddie  brought  me  the  decision,  and 
asked  whether  I  was  to  be  counted  on  to  back  the  paper. 
I  assured  him  with  some  vehemence  that  I  was  com- 
pletely out  of  sympathy  with  their  policy,  and  that  I 
would  not  permit  my  name  to  be  used. 

"Well,  then,"  said  Eddie,  "I  suppose  you  won't  want 


THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS  275 

me  around  the  house  either."  The  boy  looked  harried 
and  hunted. 

I  said  that  I  was  not  yet  so  sunk  in  my  convictions 
that  I  could  not  tolerate  an  honest  difference  of  opinion 
over  my  eggs  and  bacon.  So  he  agreed  to  stay  at  home. 

He  and  Mat  had  had  a  falling  out  over  the  war,  end- 
ing in  rupture  of  relations ;  Diantha  was  dragged  into 
the  feud;  Eddie  suffered  intensely. 

"By  God,  I  envy  Mat !"  he  said  to  me  once,  out  of  a 
clear  sky;  then  went  back  to  drawing  cartoons. 

He  takes  his  ideas  from  Ames  now,  as  formerly  from 
Mat ;  transmutes  their  radical  platitudes  with  his  hor- 
rible sincerity;  and  then  chills  the  blood  in  my  veins  with 
the  work  of  his  crayon.  He  portrays  the  sentimental 
nationalist  duped  by  grimacing  masks ;  and  I  recognize 
myself, — without  relaxing  one  whit  my  sentimental  na- 
tionalism. He  draws  the  Citizen  of  the  New  World 
tomahawked  by  a  savage;  the  Citizen  is  Eddie,  the 
Savage  is  Mat  in  a  Prussian  helmet.  I  do  not  admire 
that  pose  of  martyrdom.  The  martyrs  to-day  are  the 
young  men  who  are  staking  their  physical  existence  on 
an  ideal,  without  vainglory  and  without  attitudes. 
Calling  them  savages, — or,  more  accurately,  the  instru- 
ments of  savagery, — is  to  the  last  degree  ungenerous. 

Claudine,  of  course,  flew  out  here  when  Mat  finally 
made  up  his  mind  to  go,  and  one  day  he  brought  her 
and  Diantha  over.  A  more  bizarre  assemblage  has  never 
edified  the  eyes  of  my  goldfish.  I  don't  know  why  I 
had  expected  the  thrice-worshiped  Astarte  to  appear 
dressed  principally  in  bracelets;  I  had  seriously  con- 
templated burning  pastilles  in  a  saucer  to  make  her  feel 
at  home.  She  came,  however,  decorously  muffled  in  chin- 
chilla, and  overlooked  the  narghile  I  had  set  out,  declin- 
ing even  the  harmless,  necessary  cigarette.  The  war,  I 
learned,  had  changed  her ;  she  did  not  care  to  smoke. 
Mat  looked  benevolently  from  her  to  Diantha  and  back 
again,  and  as  between  their  two  purities,  Claudine's  stood 


276  THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS 

out  against  Diantha's  like  porcelain  against  white  lilac. 
Diantha  struck  one  as  matter-of-fact  and  uninspired  by 
comparison  with  Claudine's  starriness  of  eye  and  quiver 
of  voice. 

"I  have  given  myself  to  the  Last  War,"  she  told  me. 
"I  am  giving  Mat." 

She  is  a  sensitive  creature.  Mat's  beau,  geste  has  been 
her  cue.  She  imitates  Diantha's  manner,  with  a  result 
both  funny  and  touching. 

Until  now  I  could  not  have  endured  the  sight  of  her 
and  Diantha  arm-in-arm ;  I  should  have  thought  her 
touch  pollution.  But  she  is  doing  her  best,  and  Diantha 
has  accepted  her  at  her  face  value.  It  must  be  a  new 
experience  for  Claudine. 

If  Mat  used  to  undervalue  Diantha,  he  has  made  noble 
amends.  They  drew  together  during  the  weeks  after 
his  mind  was  made  up.  He  is  Diantha's  knight,  now, 
off  for  the  Last  Crusade.  Her  belief  matches  his  own, — 
that  their  lives  are  the  coin  in  which  to  pay  their  debt 
to  God.  They  walk  in  a  perpetual  dazzle  of  sunrise, 
talking  endlessly.  In  some  occult  way  he  has  entrusted 
Claudine  to  her  care. 

She  and  Diantha  exalt  themselves  by  exchanging  views 
on  their  idol  now  that  he  has  vanished  for  a  season. 

.  .  .  "For  a  season !"  I  cannot  accept  the  possibility 
that  Mat's  life,  which  I  have  considered  a  thing  of  be- 
ginnings and  false  starts,  with  plenty  of  time  for  their 
rectifying,  may  be  within  reach  of  its  term.  Whether 
this  is  an  end  or  another  beginning,  it  mocks  my  prophecy. 

"There  is  a  purifying  virtue  in  fire.  .  .  ." 

We  saw  him  off,  ten  days  ago.  Humanly  speaking, 
nothing  touched  me  more  than  Tolman's  brief  parting 
with  the  boy, — few  words,  but  an  obliteration  of  differ- 
ences. He  gave  Mat  his  hand,  and  told  him  not  to 
concern  himself  about  his  mother  and  Di.  "I'll  look 
after  them  till  you  get  back."  And  he  walked  away, 
ruffled  with  emotion  and  wrung  with  reserve. 


THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS  277 

At  the  last  moment  someone  came  shouldering  through 
the  crowd, — Eddie,  with  a  grotesque  pocket-cigar-lighter 
in  his  hand. 

"Take  this,  old  fellow,  you  may  need  it,"  he  said  in- 
coherently. 

"You're  a  brick  to  come  down,"  said  Mat.    "Thanks." 

"You're  doing  the  right  thing,  going,"  salcl  my  son. 
.  .  .  "Be  happy." 

"And  you're  doing  the  right  thing  staying  by  the  old 
'Rag.'  Now  you've  found  your  line,  keep  her  steady 
on  it." 

"God  bless  you,  Mat,"  said  Eddie. 

As  the  train  slipped  out  along  the  tracks,  I  own  I 
expected  Amy  to  faint.  But  she  stood  apart,  tall  and 
quiet.  She  is  in  no  particular  the  crushed,  tremulous 
mother  I  anticipated.  Perhaps  her  power  of  fearing 
had  all  been  spent  on  lesser  things ;  now,  in  any  event, 
she  has  come  upon  supernatural  courage.  She  says  God 
has  taken  her  son's  life  out  of  her  hands,  and  he  is 
safer  now  than  when  she  yearned  over  his  minute  mis- 
adventures. 

Diantha  tells  me  her  mother  prays ;  and  yet  I  do  not 
infer  that  she  intercedes  often  for  Mat's  safety.  When 
ehe  speaks  to  me  of  him,  she  treats  of  him  as  consecrated 
to  some  design  so  large  that  she  can  apprehend  it  only 
by  an  act  of  faith. 

She  lives,  of  course,  at  high  tension.  There  is  a  pain- 
ful ecstasy  in  her  eyes.  .  .  . 

Most  people  are  letting  the  war  move  along  like  a 
play  which  has  not  fulfilled  the  promise  of  the  first  act, 
and  which  threatens  to  last  till  after  midnight.  We  have 
gone  back  to  our  private  preoccupations.  So  those  of 
us  who  feel  it  in  our  hearts  walk  like  ghosts  among  the 
living. 


Ill 

June,  1916. 

LAST  week-end  I  spent  in  Lake  Forest  at  Tolman's. 
On  Sunday  evening  we  were  electrified  by  the  news  that 
the  National  Guard  had  been  mobilized  for  border  duty. 
"The  Battery,"  of  course,  will  go  (only  one  Battery  is 
socially  recognized)  ;  and  as  Fan  is  a  corporal,  we  other 
Marriotts  swell  with  pride. 

Daisy  has  been  on  one  of  the  French-orphan  com- 
mittees for  a  year  now,  and  given  dinners  for  foreign 
propagandists,  and  hung  out  the  Allied  flags  from  her 
third-story  windows ;  but  since  Fan  has  gone  into  khaki, 
albeit  Mexico  and  not  France  is  his  goal,  she  sees  defects 
in  militarism. 

While  Fan  is  gone, — probably  a  matter  of  weeks, — 
Chloe  is  to  stay  at  Tolman's.  She  is  a  likable  girl, 
hand-in-glove  with  all  the  younger  generation,  but  a  par- 
ticularly choice  example,  to  my  eyes.  She  will  have  none 
of  the  heroics  in  which  Daisy  indulges ;  one  sees  her  on 
the  terrace  at  the  club,  among  large  groups,  making  fun 
of  her  husband's  prowess,  and  planning  the  most  cheer- 
ful way  of  passing  the  time  of  his  absence.  She  will  not 
follow  him  to  Texas,  on  account  of  the  children  present 
and  prospective ;  but  she  will  do  the  best  she  can  at  home. 

He  and  she  linger  in  the  garden  after  the  rest  of  us, 
of  an  evening.  They  have  a  most  perfect  understanding, 
largely  wordless.  They  make  fun  of  each  other,  but 
delightfully ;  and  they  anticipate  each  other's  speech. 

Fan  is  like  my  father,  inarticulate. 
278 


THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS  279 

October,  1916. 

Diantha  and  I  have  made  a  discovery;  we  are  putting 
Mat's  letters  into  book  form. 

It  is  on  these  letters  Di  has  been  living.  She  is  not 
the  sweet-pea  sprite  of  Redgate  and  Grenoble;  the  office 
has  put  hard  smoothness  upon  her.  She  is  Potter's 
private  secretary  now,  and  a  segment  of  her  enjoys  the 
responsibility.  But  when  I  catch  her  face  in  repose  it 
is  as  sad  as  Amy's ; — perhaps  not  sad  so  much  as  hungry. 
She  cannot  live  on  husks.  The  letters  from  Mat  are  her 
ambrosia,  and  she  brings  them  over  to  share  the  feast 
with  me.  Then  for  an  hour  one  sees  her  features  lit 
from  within,  like  very  pure  alabaster. 

I  have  fought  my  own  enthusiasm,  and  assured  myself 
that  Diantha's  ecstatic  rendition  intensified  the  quality 
of  these  letters.  (She  intones  them  as  if  they  were  the 
Holy  Scriptures.)  I  have  caught  through  the  humor 
and  the  nobility  and  the  genre-painting,  that  touch  of 
the  theatrical  and  self-conscious  which  I  call  Mattish- 
ness.  .  .  . 

But  all  the  same  a  tingle  ran  down  my  back  when 
she  read  me  about  "my  three  comrades,"  three  daredevils 
of  the  Foreign  Legion  sketched  squarely  and  grimly, 
telling  the  manner  of  their  deaths,  and  giving  them  honor. 

Empurpled?     Perhaps  a  trifle;  but  so  is  Mat. 

I  can  hardly  believe  that  war  has  been,  to  most  of 
the  men  engaged,  the  crystallizing  agent  it  has  to  him. 
He  has  acquired  direction  and  fortitude.  The  warfare 
he  has  waged  has  been  a  reality  of  mud  and  shrapnel, 
and  his  friends  have  been  killed  beside  him.  There  is 
nothing  of  the  drawing-room  soldier  about  him.  He  saw 
action  before  he  had  been  two  months  in  France. 

But  beyond  fortitude,  he  has  acquired  a  faculty  for 
seeing  through  the  temporal  to  the  eternal,  and  a  power 
to  write  of  it  without  false  pride. 

And  to  these  gifts  he  has  added,  more  unaccountably 


280  THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS 

still,  the  ability  to  use  English  which  one  may  read  with 
a  contented  heart. 

So  I  admitted,  once  for  all,  that  these  letters  of  his 
were  a  contribution  to  literature.  "Di,"  said  I,  "what 
would  you  think  of  making  them  into  a  book,  and  seeing 
how  the  public  likes  them?" 

"Oh !"  she  said,  "Mat  wouldn't  like  that."  Then  with 
truer  insight,  "I  don't  know  that  he'd  mind."  And  at 
once  she  blazed  up  with  enthusiasm.  "Claudine  will  send 
me  most  of  hers.  They're  superb." 

She  visualized  at  once  the  binding,  the  photograph 
of  Mat  opposite  the  title  page,  the  preface  from  my 
hand.  All  that  remained  was  a  little  editing  and  typing. 

And  so  she  went  off  glorified;  and  though  I  still  have 
doubts  as  to  the  opinion  of  the  public,  I  delight  in 
having  suggested  the  scheme  on  account  of  its  effect 
on  her. 

Daisy  broke  the  precedent  of  years  and  invited  Amy 
out  to  Lake  Forest.  I  think  she  was  trying  to  tap  Amy's 
reservoir  of  strength.  It  is  a  fact  that  Amy  has  grown 
beyond  herself  in  an  extraordinary  way.  She  looks 
unearthly,  but  one  feels  drawn  to  follow  her  and  touch 
the  border  of  her  garment. 

Whether  she  could  communicate  anything  to  Daisy  I 
do  not  know ;  but  Daisy,  who  is  traversed  by  wild  currents 
of  anxiety,  looks  up  to  her. 

We  expect  the  troops  home  from  Texas  any  time  now; 
anxiety  is  almost  a  burlesque  emotion. 

I  am  always  unfair  to  Daisy. 

January,  1917. 

The  book  was  rushed  through  the  press,  and  within 
a  month  it  has  run  to  half  a  dozen  editions.  There  is 
a  Mat  Powell  cult,  almost  a  religion ;  and  even  we,  his 
remote  relatives,  reflect  some  of  his  luster.  Is  it  credible 


THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS  281 

that  my  reminiscences  of  his  childhood  have  been  syndi- 
cated and  placed  before  several  million  readers? 

The  letters  seem  written  in  the  exact  key  to  set  vibrat- 
ing the  heartstrings  of  the  multitude,  which  presumably 
sees  life  tinged  with  purple.  They  cause  aged  maiden 
ladies  to  hate  the  Hun  seven  times  worse  than  they  did 
before.  They  lead  young  men  to  enlist  in  the  Canadian 
army.  I  hear  that  school-teachers  pin  up  large  photo- 
graphs of  Mat  in  the  classroom. 

Meanwhile  I  sit,  a  prophet  discredited  with  myself,  to 
speculate  among  the  goldfish. 

If  he  can  keep  it  up  after  the  war — !  the  old  stock 
may  produce  one  leader. 


IV 


March,  1917. 


POOR  little  Di  has  been  living  here  a  few  days.  Now 
that  her  mother  is  gone,  she  feels  farther  from  Vesey 
than  ever;  and  only  duty  and  pity  take  her  back  to 
Hickory  Place.  She  is  very  tired  after  the  sickness,  and 
Vesey  leans  on  her  instead  of  upholding  her.  .  .  . 

But  I  would  not  ask  her  to  leave  her  father  permanently. 
The  poor  creature  has  collapsed  to  earth  like  a  vine 
deprived  of  its  trellis.  He  must  have  been  fond  of  his 
wife;  certainly  she  was  indispensable  to  him. 

Di  says  he  has  an  obscure  inexplicable  grudge, — at 
Mat  for  being  abroad,  at  her  for  going  back  to  the 
office,  at  Herby  for  marrying,  and  even  at  Amy  for  dying. 
No  one  cares  about  him  now,  he  says ;  and  it  is  nearly 
true. 

We  talked  late,  those  nights  Di  was  here.  The  child 
was  too  tired  to  sleep.  She  had  nursed  Amy  night  and 
day  from  the  hour  pneumonia  set  in. 

"She  always  longed  for  the  peace  of  God,"  Di  said, 
"and  after  Mat  went  she  found  it.  ...  But  it  was  too 
much  for  her." 

It  is  not  a  natural  thing,  this  joy  through  renuncia- 
tion .  .  .  perhaps,  so  nearly  divine  that  one  has  no 
need  to  go  on  living  after  one  has  attained  it. 

For  hours  we  talked  about  her  plans  for  the  children, 
and  her  influence.  It  used  to  be,  so  Di  admits,  negative: 
by  force  of  her  love  and  anxiety  she  kept  them  from 
flagrant  harm.  She  had  not  the  courage  to  lay  plans  as 
a  rule. 


THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS  283 

"And  yet,"  said  Di,  "I  doubt  if  Father  would  ever 
have  thought  of  moving  to  Chicago  unless  he  had  in- 
tended to  have  us  grow  up  near  you." 

This  was  utterly  unexpected  to  me.  Tolman,  Daisy 
and  I  have  agreed  for  years  that  Vesey  meant  to  exploit 
us  and  dragged  Amy  along,  against  her  choice. 

"Mat  and  I  didn't  use  to  think  so.  We  blamed  Father 
and  felt  badly.  But  in  her  it  was  a  finer  thing;  you  see 
that,  don't  you?" 

Yes,  I  saw  that. 

"Of  course  when  you  offered  to  send  me  to  boarding 
school,  and  I  didn't  want  to  accept,  Mother  wouldn't 
force  me  to;  but  she  didn't  like  my  going  to  the  public 
high  school.  .  .  .  She  was  wrong;  it  was  just  a  preju- 
dice, and  since  I've  been  in  business  it  seems  to  me  too 
bad  to  have  felt  that  way;  but  right  or  wrong  it  was 
her  feeling,  and  it  was  strong  enough  to  print  itself 
on  me  and  make  me  stand-offish  and  disagreeable  and 
inhuman." 

"I  wonder  if  it  was  she,"  I  said,  "who  took  you  and 
me  to  Europe  that  time." 

"Oh,  no ;  Mother  never  acted  as  directly  as  that.  I'm 
not  even  positive  she  wanted  me  to  marry  Fan.  She  was 
afraid  of  money,  you  know." 

Money  ...  we  have  cast  it  for  such  different  roles 
in  our  lives  !  To  me  it  has  been  no  more  than  the  property- 
man  ;  to  Tolman  it  has  been  the  hero,  to  Vesey  the  elusive 
heroine,  to  Amy  it  was  the  villain.  And  for  each  of  us 
it  has  made,  like  Claudine  Chesbro,  the  sympathetic 
gesture. 

"Do  you  know  what  really  killed  mother?"  said  Di. 
"It  was  Herby's  marriage." 

"Why,  that  didn't  seem  to  me  out  of  keeping  once 
you  concede  Herby's  character  and  tastes.  Eileen  isn't 
really  objectionable " 

"Of  course  not.  You  and  I  admit  she's  a  perfect  wife 
for  Herby.  But  you  see  Mother  was  very  precariously 


284  THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS 

balanced  on  the  topmost  pinnacle  of — of  reality:  breath- 
ing thin  air,  feeding  on  light,  almost.  You  don't  under- 
stand, Cousin  Edgar,  the  sublimity,  the  passive  sub- 
limity. .  .  ." 

"Perhaps  I  do." 

"But  her  one  point  of  contact  with  the  world  was 
Herby  and  Father  and  me,  just  as  she'd  always  known 
us.  The  day  Herby  came  home  with  Eileen  under 
his  arm  and  said  they  were  married,  she  lost  her  sense  of 
stability, — she  couldn't  get  a  foothold  again.  You  see, 
don't  you?  She  adapted  herself  to  Mat's  being  in  the 
midst  of  adventure  and  danger,  but  she  counted  on  Herby 
to  stay  reliably  in  the  background.  .  .  . 

"Why  didn't  you  ever  ask  him  up  to  Redgate,  Cousin 
Edgar?  I've  always  wondered.  He  never  had  his  eyes 
opened  as  Mat  and  I  did." 

"Even  as  a  tiny  boy,  Di,  you  will  remember  that  Herby 
was  perfectly  balanced  within  his  own  limited  range." 

"Herby  is  more  of  a  person  than  you  think,"  she  blazed. 
"He  could  give  us  all  points." 

"Certainly;  but  he'd  have  missed  his  vocation  as  an 
intellectual.  He  never  inclined  himself  toward  such  learn- 
ing as  did  come  his  way." 

And  I  turned  from  this  pointless  discussion  to  ask 
whether  her  mother  had  been  satisfied  with  her  career. 

"I  don't  believe  she  cared.  I'm  a  girl,  you  know.  .  .  . 
She  assumed  that  some  day  I  should  marry,  and  what  I 
did  till  then  was  of  no  importance.  She  knew  I  wanted 
to  make  good  with  Potter  Brothers,  but  I  suppose  she 
thought  it  was  on  account  of  the  pay-check." 

"You  don't  need  the  pay-check  now." 

"The  money  is  rolling  in,  of  course,  but  I  think  we 
ought  to  keep  that  for  Mat  when  he  comes  back.  I'm 
not  going  to  give  up  my  job.  .  .  .  Father  wants  me  to 
let  him  invest  Mat's  royalties,  he  says  he  can  double 
them  in  a  year;  but  I  ...  I  thought  best  to  take  them 
down  to  Cousin  Tolman  instead." 


THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS  285 

Diantha  used  to  cry  easily.  I  have  not  seen  tears  in 
her  eyes  since  Mat  went  away. 

She  says  "The  war  brought  me  one  thing;  Mat  adores 
me." 


May,  1917. 

I  WAS  blamelessly  sorting  clippings  this  Sunday  morn- 
ing when  Diantha  put  her  head  in  at  the  door,  in  an 
ominous  silence. 

"Do  you  want  work?"  I  said. 

"I  don't  think  I'd  better  come  over  here  any  more," 
she  replied.  "I  haven't  your  all-embracing  tolerance." 

"Very  well,"  I  said.  Diantha  should  know  that  Eddie 
is  dearer  to  me,  right  or  wrong,  than  even  she  is. 

But  at  this  point  Eddie  walked  in. 

"I'm  just  going,"  said  Di  quickly  and  defensively. 

"Don't  go, — I'm  leaving  myself.  I  don't  want  to  keep 
Dad's  friends  away  from  him." 

"What's  the  row?"  I  asked. 

Eddie  did  not  answer.  Di  explained  that  Eddie  had 
been  taunting  her  with  inconsistent  Christianity  in  up- 
holding the  war,  and  she  had  proclaimed  that  her  Mother 
and  Mat  were  better  Christians  than  Eddie. 

I  tried  to  say  something  conciliatory,  but  Eddie  stopped 
me. 

"No  use,  Dad.  We  see  through  different  lenses.  This 
bickering  is  horrible." 

"Good-by,   Cousin   Edgar,"   Di   said   hysterically. 

"Wait!"  Eddie  cried.  "I'm  serious.  Do  you  think 
I'm  going  to  come  between  you  and  Dad?  I'll  leave  here 
to-day,  and  we'll  wait  till  the  war  is  over  to  see  each 
other  again." 

"Nothing  of  the  sort,"  I  said.  "Diantha,  this  house 
is  Eddie's  house  and  I'm  his  father,  and  I'd  rather  have 
him  here,  whatever  he  thinks,  than  you  or  anybody  else." 
286 


THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS  287 

"Of  course  you  would,"  she  answered,  more  evenly.  "It 
would  be  perfectly  absurd  for  Eddie  to  turn  himself  out." 
And  she  gave  me  a  little  good-by  kiss. 

This  evening  Eddie  came  in  and  sat  down  in  front  of 
the  fire.  "I'm  a  cross-grained  beggar,  Dad,"  he  said. 
"Why  don't  things  come  to  me  under  the  same  form  they 
do  to  the  rest  of  the  world?" 

"You  have  to  follow  your  own  lights,"  I  said. 

"When  you  and  Diantha  agree  that  a  thing  is  right, 
that  ought  to  be  enough  for  me.  .  .  .  But  it  isn't,  and 
I  can't  help  it.  Every  time  I  think  of  the  war  I  feel  it 
hanging  over  me  like  a  sin." 

We  argued  back  and  forth  a  little,  quite  uselessly, 
without  heat. 

"The  worst  is,  about  half  of  me  feels  that  you're  right, 
and  Di's  right,  and  Mat's  right.  It  would  be  so  easy 
to  let  go  and  yield  to  that  feeling!  But  I  regard  it  as 
a  temptation  ...  to  be  wrestled  with.  All  my  reason- 
ing tells  me  the  war's  wrong ;  and  I  can't  go  against  that." 

"Then  you'd  let  them  tear  up  their  treaties,  and  violate 
the  codes  of  war,  and  sink  the  'Lusitania,'  and  do  nothing 
about  it?" 

"Two  wrongs  won't  make  a  right  even  now,  Dad. 
What's  the  advantage  of  calling  out  the  brute  in  us  to 
tussle  with  the  brute  in  them,  so  that  at  the  finish  one 
side  will  be  destroyed  and  the  other  degraded?  .  .  .  All 
that  counts  is  the  little  bit  of  truth  and  beauty  we've 
dug  out  of  the  world's  slime;  if  that's  lost,  what  matter 
who  wins  the  war?" 

"You  think,"  I  said,  "we  can  hold  that  bit  of  truth 
and  beauty  by  shutting  it  away  in  some  cellar?  It's 
a  living  plant,  Eddie.  If  we  give  it  only  the  dregs  of  our 
dishonor  to  take  root  in,  do  you  think  it  will  thrive?" 

"What  you  call  dishonor  I  don't  call  dishonor;  there's 
only  a  silly  code  involved.  If  I  think  it's  right  for 
myself  and  my  country  to  work  toward  peace  and  civiliza- 


288  THE  MARRIOTTS  A^TD  THE  POWELLS 

tion,  I  can't  call  it  dishonor  for  us  to  keep  out  of  the 
war." 

"That's   the    crux   of    our   disagreement." 

"I  wonder  if  after  the  monstrous  beast  has  eaten  it- 
self to  death,  there  will  be  a  few  things  left  we  can 
agree  on?" 

"Heaven  help  us  if  there  aren't!  I  don't  want  to  be 
a  barbarian,  Eddie,  even  though  you  think  I'm  bar- 
barous." 

"Di  calls  me  pusillanimous,"  he  said.  "Dad,  can  you 
imagine  what  I'd  have  given  to  avoid  that  break  with 
Di?  .  .  .  She's  my  bit  of  truth  and  beauty,  and  the  war 
has  taken  her." 

"Have  you  honestly  tried  to   see  as  she  does?" 

"Dad !  that's  a  silly  question.  As  if  I'd  been  able 
to  think  of  anything  else!" 

"Well,  the  war  is  bound  to  stop  sometime,  however 
long  it  lasts." 

"I'll  never  get  Di  back.  We've  found  out  how  differ- 
ent we  are.  Her  universe  is  my  vaudeville;  my  realities 
are  her  chimeras.  .  .  . 

"If  you've  ever  amused  yourself,"  he  continued,  "by 
thinking  she  might  get  to  loving  me, — and  I  know  you 
have, — I'll  tell  you  now  that  I've  always  known  it  could 
never  come  to  anything.  She's  as  Temote  from  me  as 
a  little  cloud." 

"Time  will  tell." 

"At  any  rate  there's  no  possibility  of  it  now,  after 
this  cleavage.  And  so,  Dad,  you  mustn't  protest ;  you 
miist  let  me  go  and  live  somewhere  else." 

My  indignation  revived.  "What  kind  of  a  minx  is 
Diantha  to  turn  you  out  of  your  own  father's  house? 
Whatever  she  says,  I  can't  get  on  without  you." 

"Thanks,  Dad,  but  of  course  you  can ;  and  it's  not  on 
your  account,  it's  on  Di's.  She's  dependent  on  you  for 
all  her  happiness ;  she  must  feel  able  to  come  here." 

"I  won't  have  a  thing  to  do  with  her  if  you  leave." 


THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS  289 

"That  would  be  so  childish,  Dad.  .  .  .  I'll  just  get 
a  room  somewhere ;  I'll  lunch  here  and  dine  here  all 
I  can." 

I  was  boiling  with  fury  at  Diantha,  when  she  called 
up  on  the  telephone,  and  asked  to  speak  to  me. 

"Cousin  Edgar,  has  Eddie  said  anything  more  about 
this  morning?  .  .  .  What  I  want  to  say  is,  I  was  wrong; 
of  course  my  coming  over  to  see  you  doesn't  depend  on 
Eddie's  absence;  we  both  belong  among  the  goldfish." 

"What  made  you  call  up,  Di?" 

"Oh,  I  reasoned  it  all  out  that  Eddie  would  insist  on 
leaving  so  I  could  go  over  there.  And  then  I  knew 
you'd  hate  me." 

"You  understand  us  pretty  well." 

"I'm  pretty  fond  of  you,  that's  why.  .  .  .  Yes,  of  Eddie 
too.  Tell  him  that,  will  you,  Cousin  Edgar?" 


VI 

July,  1917 

IF  anything  could  exceed  my  surprise  at  my  own 
family,  it  would  be  my  own  country  since  we  entered  the 
war. 

I  ran  into  Josie  downtown,  with  a  stenographer's  note- 
book under  her  arm,  looking  hot  and  exhausted.  She 
instructed  me  to  feed  her  a  large,  cool  lunch  at  the 
Blackstone,  and  I  did  so,  being  rewarded  by  a  most  in- 
teresting series  of  confidences.  They  say  the  war  breaks 
down  barriers,  and  so  it  must  be,  when  Josie  and  I  are 
to  be  seen  pouring  out  our  hearts  to  each  other  over 
jellied  consomme. 

First  I  asked  her  what  she  was  doing  with  the  note- 
book, and  she  said  she  was  training  for  a  job  with  the 
Council  of  National  Defense;  that  she  hated  shorthand 
passionately,  but  that  it  was  going  to  be  a  fight  to  the 
finish,  and  she'd  learn  it  or  bust. 

It  seemed  to  me  that  Josie  had  changed. 

But  it  was  not  to  talk  of  Gregg  or  of  Munson  that 
Josie  had  commandeered  me.  She  asked  me  if  I  had  been 
through  Fort  Sheridan  lately. 

"No,"  I  said,  "have  you?" 

Yes,  Josie  had ;  she  could  mention  nothing  else.  Every 
day  she  goes  out  to  Lake  Forest  after  six  hours  of 
business  college,  changes  into  an  organdie  dress,  and 
drives  her  car  up  to  the  Fort  to  bring  down  an  assort- 
ment of  baby-officers  for  a  bath  and  six-o'clock  dinner. 

"I  mean  to  be  married  after  the  first  camp,"  she  said 
suddenly. 

"Bless  you,  Josie!"  I  said  heartily.  "It's  high  time." 
290 


THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS  291 

"I  need  your  help,"  she  continued.  "They  don't  know 
it  yet,  and  they're  going  to  be  furious." 

"What  makes  you  think  I'll  approve,  then?" 

"You've  got  to.  You've  helped  all  the  rest  of  us  out 
of  scrapes,  and  I've  always  been  jealous.  Now  it's  my 
turn.  .  .  .  He's  most  unsuitable.  .  .  .  Mother  thinks  it's 
going  to  be  Alec  Brice ;  but  it  isn't.  .  .  .  Everybody  pro- 
poses to  you  these  days.  .  .  ." 

"Well,  who  is  he?" 

"Henry  Todd  by  name;  two  years  younger  than  me; 
you  never  heard  of  him, — nobody  has.  He  has  no  money, 
— he's  not  a  good  dancer — he  went  to  the  University  of 
Illinois : — I  simply  can't  live  without  him." 

"Where  did  you  meet  him?" 

"He's  in  the  same  company  as  Alec.  Alec  likes  him, 
he  brought  him  over  one  Sunday.  He's  from  down- 
state." 

"Where?" 

"Archerville." 

"I  knew  his  father,"  I  told  her,  "when  I  was  in  the 
legislature."  Josie  almost  embraced  me  publicly. 

"A  fine  chap;  leading  citizen,  ran  the  hardware  store 
twenty  years  ago." 

"He  still  does,"  said  Josie  her  brown  eyes  glowing 
upon  me.  "You  must  meet  Hank.  He'd  love  you." 

"How  long  has  this  been  going  on?" 

"Since  June  tenth.  .  .  .  Now,  Cousin  Edgar,  this  is 
what  I  want  you  to  do.  I  want  you  to  let  Father  and 
Mother  meet  Hank  under  your  auspices — son  of  an  old 
friend — that  sort  of  thing — before  I  tell  them  we're 
engaged.  .  .  .  And  if  they  won't  let  me  get  married  at 
home,  we'll  do  it  at  your  house  in  town." 

"No,  Josie!"  I  exclaimed  with  firmness.  "I  may  have 
done  odd  jobs  for  you  young  scapegraces,  but  I've  never 
incited  you  to  mutiny  of  that  sort." 

"I'm  of  age,  Lord  knows,"  she  said.  "Do  you  prefer 
to  have  me  go  down  to  the  city  hall?" 


292  THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS 

"Dear  child,  don't  get  your  back  up  before  it's  neces- 
sary. As  likely  as  not  your  family  will  be  delighted. 
The  war  changes  people,  you  know." 

"You  can't  change  the  leopard's  spots,"  sniffed  Josie. 
"Cousin  Edgar,  I  just  blush  for  Mother  sometimes. 
She's  so  limited.  She  can't  abide  Mat's  book,  and  I 
really  think  she  sympathizes  with  Eddie, — oh,  I  beg  your 
pardon." 

"I  don't  blame  you,  Josie;  I  blush  for  Eddie  myself." 

"I'd  rather  have  Eddie  around  than  Mother ;  at  least 
he's  sincere.  She  doesn't  dare  say  she's  against  the  war 
because  it's  not  fashionable;  but  she  disapproves  of  it 
because  Fan's  in  it." 

"And  you  know,"  she  went  on,  "if  it  weren't  for  Mat, 
I  think  our  whole  family  would  have  a  black  eye.  Eddie's 
so  conspicuous  in  the  papers,  you  know,  with  the  trial 
coming  on ;  and  then  of  course  there's  Ernest.  How 
Adeline  could  go  and  marry  a  German !" 

"There  was  no  curse  on  German-Americans  in  1905." 

"I  know  it,  and  I'm  not  fair;  Ernest  is  doing  his  very 
best,  and  he's  trying  to  get  a  commission ;  but  everything 
he  does  is  suspected  and  misinterpreted,  and  Addie  says 
she's  sure  her  new  upstairs-girl  is  a  spy.  ...  I  thank 
the  Lord  every  day  for  Mat  and  Fan." 

(Fan  is  in  Texas  again,  a  captain  in  a  National  Guard 
"outfit," — that  is  our  current  phrase, — drilling  them  for 
overseas.) 

"And  didn't  we  all  misjudge  Herby?  He's  not  the 
fellow  we  thought  he  was." 

"I  used  to  be  ashamed  of  having  Herby  in  the  family, 
especially  when  he  wore  overalls,"  said  Josie  frankly. 

"He's  scarcely  conventional,  even  now." 

"No ;  Herby's  no  parlor-snake.  But  everybody  says 
he's  a  perfect  wonder  in  the  air.  He's  to  be  sent  over 
very  shortly." 

"Have  you  seen  her  lately?" 


THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS  293 

"No,  she's  down  at  Rantoul.  What  do  you  think  of 
her?" 

"I  imagine  we  agree." 

"The  day  I  met  her  she  had  on  white  kid  shoes,  and 
her  hair  was  bobbed,  and  her  eyebrows  were  just  one  fine 
line;  but  you  can't  help  seeing  what  a  nice,  kind-hearted 
soul  she  is." 

"Thoroughly  suited  to  Herby,  I  think.  What  do  you 
suppose  my  mother  would  have  thought  of  a  Roman 
Catholic  in  the  tribe?" 

"She  went  through  a  war  in  her  young  days.  Probably 
she  wasn't  as  rigid  in  her  prejudices  as  she  seemed." 

"Herby  has  never  had  any  doubt  as  to  his  tastes,  has 
he?" 

"No,  he's  gravitated  to  his  own  environment,  and  let 
the  sacred  family  go  hang;  and  I  admire  him  immensely." 

"It's  funny  to  hear  you  even  mention  Herby,  much 
more  praise  him." 

"You  don't  quite  understand,  Cousin  Edgar.  I  never 
was  snobbish  about  Herby's  overalls,  as  such.  Lots  of 
my  friends  have  begun  at  the  bottom  and  worked  up,  in 
factories  and  places.  What  jarred  on  me  was  that  I 
thought  he  was  willing  to  be  second-rate ;  and  now  I  see 
it  isn't  inferiority,  it's  just  independence.  And  though 
he  never  cut  any  great  figure  when  there  was  nothing 
worth  fussing  over,  he's  stepped  up  front  so  splendidly, 
and  shown  such  superb  courage  and  .  .  .  dash.  .  .  ." 

"It's  queer,  isn't  it?  Let's  drive  down  there  some 
day  and  watch  him  fly ;  they  say  it's  a  sight.  He  took 
to  it  as  if  it  was  the  one  vocation  of  his  life." 

"Di  says  Eileen  Dennis — I  mean  Eileen  Powell — is 
going  to  live  with  her  when  Herby  goes  across." 

"That's  going  to  be  rather  a  pill  for  Di.  She's  still 
got  Amy's  gentility  in  her  bones." 

"Never  you  mind ;  Di's  a  wonder." 

"Dear  child,  when  has  anybody  had  to  defend  Diantha 


294  THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS 

to  me?  I'm  silly  about  her  and  always  have  been.  Since 
when  have  you  become  her  apologist?" 

"Since  I  was  engaged,"  said  Josie,  with  a  divine  blush. 
"She  guessed  it  the  minute  she  saw  me;  I  thinks  she's  a 
spook.  She  says  I'm  completely  changed." 

"So  you  are." 

She  was  delighted  with  me  for  saying  that. 


VII 

December,  1917. 

EILEEN  is  just  back  from  New  York,  where  she  saw 
Herby  off — or  nearly  off;  the  sailing,  of  course,  was 
secret.  She  has  been  a  game  little  creature  throughout, 
but  now  that  he  is  really  gone,  she  has  collapsed  on 
Diantha's  hands. 

Di  is  once  again  in  a  vortex.  Besides  the  complica- 
tions of  housekeeping, — and  I  gather  that  both  Vesey 
and  Eileen  provide  difficult  moments, — she  has  been  ab- 
sorbed into  the  Speaker's  Bureau. 

Three  years  ago  the  odds  against  Diantha's  ever 
speaking  in  public  were  about  sixty  to  one;  and  not  least 
strange  among  the  experiences  of  the  war,  I  count  the 
sight  of  her  on  a  platform.  No  one  would  have  believed 
her  voice  could  carry ;  but  it  does  carry,  in  any  moderate- 
sized  hall. 

I  went  down  the  other  night  to  a  theater  where  she  was 
speaking  for  the  Liberty  Loan.  Girls  were  waiting  in 
the  aisles  with  pencils  and  blanks ;  a  man  came  before  the 
curtain  and  introduced  "the  sister  of  Marriott  Powell." 

She  walked  gently  across  before  the  footlights,  and 
stood  bowing,  and  before  she  said  a  word  she  had  won 
a  stir  of  applause,  half  for  Mat  and  half  for  her  own 
beauty.  (I  wondered  what  her  reception  might  have 
been  as  "The  Cousin  of  Edgar  Marriott,  Jr.")  She 
wears  black,  of  course,  and  her  transparent  blonde  color- 
ing fairly  shines  out. 

Then  she  talked  for  about   six  minutes.     There  was 
none  of  the  banter  and  bonhomie  of  the  orator ;  she  spoke 
to  the  point,  with  a  terrible  and  thrilling  earnestness. 
295 


296  THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS 

Her  voice  when  extended  loses  its  soft  murmur,  and  takes 
on  a  violin  quality  that  makes  one  shiver.  When  she 
finished  there  was  no  sound  for  a  second,  and  then  a  real 
roar  of  applause. 

She  held  up  one  hand.  "Don't  clap,'*  she  said.  "Buy 
the  bonds."  And  in  a  serious  voice  she  announced  the 
subscriptions,  one  after  another,  which  mounted  far  into 
the  thousands. 

As  I  drove  her  home  afterward,  I  saw  her  crumple  and 
droop.  She  is  not  made  of  the  rhinoceros-hide  that 
thrives  on  public  life;  I  verily  believe  the  war  will  kill 
her  if  it  goes  on  long  enough. 

Meanwhile,  she  is  a  celebrity. 

Vesey  is  a  lone  cat  these  days.  I  met  him  in  the  news- 
paper room  of  the  Public  Library,  brooding  over  a  file 
with  his  mouth  half-open ;  and  I  was  sorrier  for  the  poor 
devil  than  I  had  supposed  I  could  be. 

The  war,  which  has  swept  in  all  the  rest  of  us,  has  left 
him  behind.  No  one  is  interested  in  him ;  it  doesn't  matter 
whether  he  lives  or  dies. 

Perhaps  that  is  punishment  in  itself  for  his  misdeeds.  I 
should  so  regard  it  myself. 


VIII 

MY  conscience  gnaws  at  itself  in  regard  to  Josie.  I 
betrayed  her  .  .  .  and  yet  I  dared  not  help  along  her 
scheme. 

When  she  brought  her  Henry  Todd  to  see  me,  about 
the  last  of  July,  I  was  greatly  afflicted.  He  was  an 
ingenuous  young  man  with  the  pleasantest  of  blue  eyes, 
quite  infatuated  with  Josie,  and  not  yet  over  his  surprise 
at  his  own  good  luck.  His  speech  was  unpretentious,  with 
the  direct  Western  attack  which  my  ears  find  not  un- 
pleasant. He  told  me  that  the  weather  was  "real  nice" 
and  that  he  "didn't  enthuse  over  poetry." 

Josie  sat  by  his  side  on  the  sofa,  informing  me,  while  he 
blushed,  that  he  had  been  captain  of  a  high-school  baseball 
team,  and  worked  his  way  to  Europe  on  a  cattle  ship. 

I  kept  tormenting  my  imagination  for  some  picture 
of  the  future  into  which  Henry  Todd  and  Josie  would 
both  fit.  And  found  none.  In  Chicago  his  own  exertions 
would  never  lift  him  above  the  second  rank,  and  the  posi- 
tion of  son-in-law  to  Tolman  Marriott  would  be  as  awk- 
ward as  a  pair  of  stilts.  If  they  lived  in  Chicago,  Josie 
would  soon  learn  to  consider  herself  his  superior, — a  most 
detestable  attitude  in  a  wife. 

Archerville  was  his  milieu,  where  he  could  live  honored 
and  esteemed;  but  after  half-a-dozen  seasons  of  Chicago, 
I  did  not  think  it  unfair  to  conclude  that  Josie  had  out- 
grown the  possibility  of  being  happy  with  the  heir-ap- 
parent of  the  hardware  store  of  that  thriving  little  city. 

Only  one  view  had  plausibility,  and  that  was  hideous 
.  .  .  Josie  as  his  widow. 

If  I  had  told  her  I  disapproved  of  the  match,  they 
would  have  gone  straight  to  the  City  Hall  for  a  license, 
and  then  to  Waukegan. 

297 


298  THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS 

"He  will  come  back,"  I  thought,  "after  the  war,  and 
then  she  shall  choose.  If  it  has  brought  out  the  manhood 
in  him,  she  can  marry  him  then;  if  he  remains  what  he  is 
now,  she  will  thank  me."  So  I  held  him  alone  in  con- 
versation. 

And  to  him  I  put  the  time-honored  argument  that  it 
was  selfish  to  bind  her  with  the  marriage  she  was  so  will- 
ing to  enter  upon,  when  he  might  come  home  disabled, 
maimed,  a  life-long  burden.  .  .  . 

He  looked  me  square  in  the  eye  while  I  was  talking ;  his 
long  young  limbs  forced  themselves  upon  my  vision, — 
possible  cannon-fodder.  I  felt  damnably  old  and  selfish, 
as  I  sat  in  my  easy-chair  urging  that  horror  as  probable, 
which  all  my  wish  and  instinct  proclaimed  a  remote  con- 
tingency. I  wanted  to  say,  "Dear  boy,  marry  her  and 
be  happy,  and  God  bless  you  both  and  bring  you  safe  to- 
gether again,  if  it  may  be ;  but  live  your  little  hour  to  the 
full." 

There  is  something  crabbed  and  hard  in  an  old  man's 
brain,  that  lets  him  deal  cruelly  by  the  young;  and  so 
I  dealt  with  Henry  Todd. 

"You're  right,  sir,"  he  said.  "I  knew  it  all  the  time 
in  the  back  of  my  mind." 

"Don't  tell  Josie  what  I've  said;  she'd  be  all  the  keener 
to  marry  }'ou." 

So  he  went  out.   .  .   . 

Tolman  and  Daisy  knew  nothing  of  the  engagement; 
Josie  meant  to  tell  them  the  day  he  won  his  commission. 

When  that  day  came  he  was  ordered  to  the  port  of 
embarkation, — one  of  a  small  handful  so  favored.  He  had 
the  afternoon  with  Josie  in  Lake  Forest ;  she  drove  him 
in  to  town,  and  he  took  the  5 :30  train  East. 

She  spent  the  night  with  Diantha,  and  she  has  clung 
to  her  ever  since. 

She  has  heard  that  he  is  ordered  to  the  front  already. 

I  feel  a  traitor  and  a  scoundrel  when  I  look  at  her 
haunted  eyes. 


IX 

March,  1918. 

"VIOLATION  of  the  Espionage  Act."  .  .,  .  "Aid  and 
comfort  to  the  enemy !" 

They  dragged  in  the  last  staggering  issues  of  the  "Red 
Rag,"  which  Eddie  admitted  he  wrote  almost  from  cover 
to  cover,  during  the  weeks  after  Ames  Bicknell  enlisted 
and  before  the  offices  were  closed.  But  I  know,  though 
it  was  never  brought  out  in  court,  that  Ames  was  not 
too  patriotic  to  permit  the  publication,  even  then,  of 
some  of  the  editorial  paragraphs  written  before  his  change 
of  heart.  The  hands  were  the  hands  of  Esau,  but  the 
voice  was  the  voice  of  Jacob. 

So  the  last  of  that  precious  gang  deserted,  and  left 
my  boy  holding  up  the  banner  they  had  put  into  his 
hands. 

He  is  worth  more  than  the  lot  of  them, — more  than 
Mat  Powell  with  his  trench-heroics,  certainly  more  than 
Ames  in  his  Ordnance  Department. 

There  speaks  the  perfect  father;  and  yet  even  I  who 
love  Eddie  am  infuriated  by  his  wrong-headed,  belligerent 
pacifism;  and  if '  I  were  the  father  or  mother  or  maiden 
aunt  of  a  fighting  soldier,  I  should  hiss  him  in  the  streets. 

Free  speech  .  .  .  yes!  But  not  while  the  world  is 
afire!  .  .  . 

I  long  for  the  spaciousness  of  the  years  after  this 
war,  when  at  leisure  and  with  consecrated  hearts  we  may 
rebuild  all  of  civilization. 

But  when  to-day  we  had  word  of  that  dizzying  gap 
in  the  Allied  front,  through  which  the  Germans  might 
have  swept  and  so  put  a  disastrous  period  to  the  war 
before  America  had  even  made  her  strength  felt, — why 


300  THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS 

to-day  am  I  returning  from  seeing  my  son  off  for  Leaven- 
worth  ! 

I  have  a  horrid  impression  that  this  conduct  of  his  is 
just  what  his  mother  would  applaud. 

Daisy  has  dropped  him, — washed  her  hands  of  him  with 
ostentatious  fervor; — though  there  was  a  time  when  he 
saw  fit  to  refuse  the  money  she  offered  toward  his  propa- 
ganda. Tolman,  of  course,  is  more  rational,  having 
less  to  fear  from  a  bull's-eye  hit  by  public  opinion. 

Little  Diantha  asked  me  to  take  her  down  to  see  him, 
bless  her  heart !  It  seems  she  meant  to  convert  him.  She 
was  snapped  by  six  photographers  as  we  entered  the 
jail;  but  she  is  not  self-conscious. 

I  left  them  alone  for  half  an  hour.  When  I  came  back 
she  was  trembling  with  fury,  and  he  had  fallen  into 
a  dogged  silence. 

She  said  to  me,  "He's  my  cousin,  and  I  shan't  go  back 
on  him  in  public ;  but  I  want  him  to  be  sure  that  I  think 
he's  selfish— a  yellow  cur — 

"He's  not  that,  Di.  He  may  be  wrong,  but  he's  not 
yellow." 

"Never  mind,  Dad,"  Eddie  said.  "There's  no  use 
going  into  all  this.  Diantha  has  made  herself  perfectly 
clear,  and  she  has  as  much  right  to  her  opinion  as  I  have 
to  mine." 

With  that  we  went  out. 

Fan  has  been  several  times  at  the  point  of  embarkation, 
and  as  often  has  Chloe  hastened  to  New  York  or  Norfolk, 
but  at  last  reports  he  had  once  more  been  transferred, 
this  time  to  Georgia. 

Under  these  agitations,  Chloe's  reserve  has  never  once 
broken.  I  hear  she  is  considered  shallow,  because  she 
shows  no  excitement.  On  the  contrary,  I  give  her  credit 
for  keen  feeling  completely  controlled.  Her  youngest  boy 
likes  me  immensely. 

End  of  Edgar  Marriott's  Notes 


DURING  the  early  part  of  this  winter,  Vesey  had,  ac- 
cording to  his  custom,  stayed  liberally  at  home;  but  the 
presence  of  Eileen,  whom  he  did  not  like,  piqued  him  into 
another  outburst  of  office  life.  As  usual  when  a  scheme 
was  afoot,  he  became  buoyant,  gallant,  and  loquacious, 
and  for  the  first  time  shook  off  the  lethargy  that  had  suc- 
ceeded Amy's  death.  He  was  having  prospectuses 
printed,  elaborate  illustrated  prospectuses ;  and  certain 
half-tone  plates  of  peach-orchards,  which  had  voyaged 
with  him  ever  since  his  earlier  years  in  central  New 
York,  were  dusted  off  for  further  service. 

Di  paid  little  attention  to  his  comings  and  goings.  She 
was  in  demand  throughout  the  Middle  West  for  speeches, 
and  she  was  proof-reading  a  second  book  of  Mat's  letters. 
Therefore  the  catastrophe  which  broke  upon  the  house- 
hold in  April  was  a  complete  surprise. 

With  the  first  stirrings  of  spring  in  the  air,  Vesey 
flooded  the  mails  with  his  brochure,  which  related  to 
Michigan  fruit  lands.  He  had  always  felt  that  his  genius 
lay  in  the  direction  of  developing  tracts  of  real  estate, 
and  now,  heaven  having  sent  him  a  capitalist  to  provide 
the  property  and  the  suite  of  offices,  he  had  given  rein  to 
his  talent. 

The  tract  was  in  Michigan,  and  the  prospectus  spoke 
of  luxurious  soil,  teeming  peach-orchards  (illustrated), 
commodious  cottages,  (likewise  illustrated),  profits  con- 
vincingly worked  out  by  percentages,  strawberries, 
Chicago  and  Detroit  markets,  canning  factory  on  the 
verge  of  erection ;  it  painted  the  delights  of  the  modern 
rural  community.  It  urged  the  purchaser  to  sign  on  the 
301 


302  THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS 

dotted  line,  before  the  last  lot  was  snapped  up.  Pay- 
ments were  to  be  on  the  installment  plan. 

It  is  not  denied  that  this  circular  was  reading  matter 
to  intoxicate  those  who  had  been  long  in  city  pent. 
There  was  a  brisk  patter  of  inquiries  at  the  offices  of  the 
Peachcroft  Acres  Company,  where  a  sleek  young  woman 
had  more  photographs  ready  for  display,  while  Vesey 
sat  in  a  holy  of  holies,  wearing  gold  pince-nez  and  writing 
his  name  at  the  foot  of  documents.  In  a  moment  of  un- 
bridled profuseness,  he  sent  home  a  potted  gardenia 
plant. 

It  happened  that  Diantha  came  back  from  a  trip  the 
morning  after  the  arrival  of  this  symbol  of  wealth.  The 
fragrance  of  gardenias  always  reminded  her  of  the  first 
dinner  in  Paris,  where  Fan  fell  in  love  with  her. 

"Isn't  it  classy?"  asked  Eileen.  "Here,  let  me  take 
your  bag  and  your  umbrella.  Sit  down  and  tell  me  what's 
happened  to  you" 

She  was  chewing  gum,  and  her  bobbed  hair  had  not  been 
curled  very  recently.  The  gardenias  continued  to  send 
out  their  thick,  dreamy  odor. 

"Nothing  special,"  said  Diantha.  "What's  the  news 
here?" 

"No  letters  from  abroad.  Poppa" — (Vesey) — "is 
chirping  like  a  cricket  this  morning.  He  told  me  to  go 
buy  myself  a  swell  dress,  but  I  think  I'll  wait  till  after 
the  baby  gets  here.  I  hear  Cousin  Fanning  has  sailed." 

.  .  .  So  he  was  gone  too.  She  had  so  far  lost  touch 
with  him  that  this  was  the  nearest  to  a  good-by  she 
was  to  receive. 

"There's  a  telegram  here  for  Poppa.  Had  I  better 
'phone  him  about  it?" 

"Yes,  I  would,"  Diantha  answered.  She  was  feeling  a 
touch  of  the  pain  that  had  almost  died  out  of  her  daily 
thoughts. 

".  .  .  Shall  I  open  it?"  Eileen  was  saying  over  the 

telephone.  "All  right  .  .  .  'Washington' you  know 

those  letters  they  put  at  the  top.  'Use  of  my  name  on 


THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS  303 

Peachcroft  prospectus  utterly  unauthorized,  other  facts 
misrepresented,  whole  proceeding  infamous.  I  intend  to 
take  legal  steps  at  once  which  will  effectively  prevent  re- 
currence of  situation.  No  use  asking  for  leniency.  Signed, 
Tolman  Marriott.'  Gee  whiz!  Did  you  get  all  that, 
Poppa?' 

"Something's  up!"  said  Eileen  in  her  accented  jargon, 
turning  from  the  telephone.  "Poppa  swore  a  big  swear 
and  rang  off." 

"Let  me  see  the  telegram,"  said  Diantha.  "Is  there 
one  of  those  prospectuses  around?" 

Sure  enough,  on  the  Board  of  Directors  stood  first 
the  name  of  Vesey  Powell,  Pres.,  then  Mercer  P.  Watson, 
capitalist,  Chairman;  third  Tolman  Marriott,  President 
of  the  Columbia  Trust  Co. 

At  luncheon-time  Vesey  appeared,  ashen  and  battered. 

"The  game's  up,  girls,"  he  said.  "They  can  put  me  in 
jail  if  they  want  to." 

"Father!  Cousin  Tolman  wouldn't  put  you  in  jail  just 
for  using  his  name  in  that  harmless  way." 

"Oh,  if  they  get  looking  into  it,  there  are  lots  of  things 
they  can  object  to.  Now  I  want  you  to  listen  what  I  say, 
Di : — I  believe  in  that  property,  it's  good  sound  fruit  land. 
I  wouldn't  wish  anybody  better  luck  than  to  hold  title  to 
forty  acres  of  it.  But  you  take  this  prospectus.  Now 
in  business  you've  got  to  interest  the  purchaser,  you 
know.  This  is  the  best  prospectus  I  ever  got  out.  It's 
brought  in  thousands  of  dollars." 

He  spun  the  pages. 

"They  can  pick  holes  in  every  line  of  this,"  he  said. 
"Take  the  directors ;  half  a  dozen  of  those  chaps  don't 
know  they're  on  the  board,  though  they'll  probably  be 
jolly  glad  when  they  realize  they  are.  Now  this  picture, 
— peach  trees!  You  remember  I've  had  that  plate  for 
years ;  I  bought  it  second-hand  of  a  printer  in  Canan- 
daigua.  I've  always  liked  it.  Well,  at  Peachcroft  the 
trees  aren't  in  yet.  I  just  wanted  to  suggest  the  Peach 
idea  to  purchasers. 


304,  THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS 

"Now  here's  another  point ;  'Transportation — excellent 
service  via  M.  R.  and  S.  Q.'  That's  true  enough,  only 
it's  eleven  miles  over  sand  roads.  They're  sure  to  find 
out  and  object  to  it. — 'Cottages' — there  aren't  but  two 
on  the  tract.  They  can  have  cottages  if  they  build  'em! 
What  do  they  expect  for  a  thousand  dollars? — And  of 
course  some  of  those  lots  aren't  as  desirable  as  others  .  .  ." 

"What  are  you  going  to  do?" 

"I  haven't  just  thought.  I  get  sick  to  death  of  pulling 
up  stakes  and  moving  on.  Anyhow  I  guess  Tolman  means 
business  this  time.  'Mr.  F.  Vesey  Powell  of  Hickory 
Place  will  summer  at  Joliet,'  I  fancy,  while  his  famous 
daughter  stumps  the  state  for  the  Food  Administration !" 

Tolman  at  this  period  was  a  dollar-a-year  man  in 
Washington  fairly  well  occupied.  So  it  was  several  days 
before  his  lawyer  called  upon  Vesey  Powell,  and  the  un- 
fortunate man  had  almost  begun  to  hope  for  immunity. 
He  was  still  attending  to  such  business  as  came  in,  but 
in  the  prospectuses  a  rubber-stamped  "Resigned"  stood 
superposed  on  the  name  of  Tolman  Marriott. 

But  he  learned  that  Tolman  had  not  forgotten. 

That  night  Vesey  stayed  downtown  for  dinner  and 
posted  a  letter  to  Diantha. 

"My  darling  girl. 

"For  the  last  time  I  am  doing  the  courageous  thing. 
The  hard  thing.  Life  has  been  a  great  game,  my  dear; 
and  I've  lost. 

"She  will  take  my  head  once  more  between  her  cool 
hands.  I  have  missed  her  too  bitterly. 

"You  three,  my  wonderful  brave  children, 

— Good-by." 

He  took  a  Grand  Avenue  car  to  the  Municipal  Pier; 
and  in  the  darkness  he  dropped  quietly  off  into  the  water. 

At  least  Diantha  was  able  to  break  the  shock  to  her 
brothers  abroad.  She  cabled  them  that  their  father  was 
dangerously  ill,  and  two  days  later  that  he  had  died. 


XI 

<sLooK  at  them!'  said  Edgar. 

Chloe  had  brought  her  two  children  in  to  see  their  great- 
uncle,  and  they  were  familiarizing  themselves,  as  had  the 
previous  generation,  with  the  goldfish  in  the  aquarium. 
Tolman  II  was  now  four  years  old,  and  as  handsome  a 
young  man  as  had  yet  graced  the  Marriott  line, — brown 
and  ruddy  like  his  father,  with  Chloe's  stalwart  air  and 
her  smile.  When  he  came  into  the  house  one  was  made 
aware  of  his  presence  by  a  series  of  shouts  and  chucklings, 
and  scamperings  of  sturdy  legs.  He  formed  friendships 
with  postmen,  financiers  and  stray  dogs,  and  made  a  point 
of  showing  his  new  acquaintances  whatever  he  had  in  his 
pockets  at  the  time.  He  was  now  balancing  his  roly- 
poly  frame  on  the  tabouret,  and  casting  flakes  of  fish- 
food  into  the  aquarium, — his  gravity  broken  by  a  loud, 
rosy  laugh  whenever  a  fish  rose  to  the  lure. 

"Look,  Dubby,"  he  caroled.  "That's  Gwampa  Gold- 
fish !"  and  he  turned,  tottering  on  his  perch,  to  exchange  a 
delighted  glance  with  his  mother  and  Uncle  Edgar. 

Little  Dunbar  had  been  born  during  the  summer  of 
1917,  and  had  now  reached  the  age  of  fourteen  months, 
but  he  had  never  grown  broad  like  his  brother.  He  stood 
now  with  his  slight  hands  pressed  against  the  glass  of  the 
aquarium  so  that  green  light  shone  through  the  water  on 
his  face;  his  straight,  silver-blonde  hair  lay  against  his 
silver-blonde  cheeks.  As  the  fish  glided  serenely  across 
and  up  and  down,  his  eyes  followed  them,  full  of  wonder, 
and  yet  focussed  on  something  beyond  their  scintillant 
grace. 

"Don't  you  think  he  seems  stronger?"  said  Chloe,  with 
305 


306  THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS 

her  pleasant  countenance  turned  to  Edgar,  and  her  hand 
outstretched  to  catch  Toly  when  he  tumbled. 

"He's  strong,  Chloe,  even  if  he  isn't  meaty." 

"But  he's  so  high-strung,  he  wears  himself  out;  and  he 
talks  to  himself,  and  he  looks  right  through  you.  I  can't 
understand  it.  Neither  Fan  nor  I  has  a  single  nerve  at 
loose  ends." 

"Neither  Fan  nor  you  shows  it.  But  you're  not  a  girl 
without  a  heart,  Chloe.  I  think  you've  put  your  war- 
time 'ardors  and  endurances'  into  Dubby,  even  if  you 
wouldn't  let  them  crop  out  in  yourself." 

She  looked  thoughtfully  at  him,  balancing  his  sug- 
gestion. 

"It's  a  mean  heritage  for  the  little  chick,  isn't  it?" 

"I  have  the  same  myself." 

"Oh,  the  Civil  War?" 

"Do  you  know,  he  has  my  father's  eyes?" 

"Mr.  Joshua  Marriott's?  Was  he  a  remarkable  man? 
I  never  knew  him." 

"I'm  not  sure  he  was  a  remarkable  man,"  said  Edgar, 
slowly,  "but  he  had  certainly  a  look  that  made  you  think 
of  eternity." 

"I  wish  Diantha  had  some  of  your  nervous  equilib- 
rium." 

"She's  simply  wonderful  as  she  is." 

"She's  killing  herself.  I  want  her  to  come  over  here  to 
live,  but  she's  Eileen's  mainstay  at  present,  and  she  wants 
to  keep  the  house  on  Hickory  Place  open  for  the  boys, 
whenever  they  get  back." 

"It  can't  last  much  longer  now  .  .  .  Do  you  remember 
how  depressed  we  all  were  last  spring?  .  .  .  You  know 
I'm  sure  Fan  was  at  Chateau-Thierry." 

"You  have  a  gift  for  keeping  cool.  I  suppose  he's  in 
the  Argonne  now.  .  .  ." 

"I  suppose  so,"  returned  Chloe  stoically.  "I  prevent 
myself  from  thinking  about  it." 


THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS  807 

"Di  has  Mat  and  Herby  and  Fan  on  her  mind  every 
minute." 

"That's  why  she  makes  those  amazing  speeches  that 
just  bring  your  heart  up  into  your  mouth." 

"I  hate  to  have  her  stop  making  speeches,  because  they 
take  her  out  of  herself ;  but  I  tell  you  it's  killing  her.  If 
the  damned  war  were  through  and  the  boys  were  back,  I 
could  take  her  away  for  a  rest.  It's  no  use  now.** 

"Does  she  miss  her  father?" 

"Even  if  your  own  father  were  a  blackguard  instead 
of  a  respectable  citizen  you'd  probably  still  be  fond  of 
him." 

Chloe's  good-natured  mouth  could  not  help  curling  a 
little.  There  -were  no  blackguards  in  her  own  family — 
nor  young  men  of  military  age  in  Leavenworth. 

"She  must  feel  the  scandal." 

"She  does.  That  makes  it  twice  as  hard  for  her  to  go 
before  an  audience  and  win  them  over." 

"All  the  speeches  I've  ever  made  haven't  sapped  my 
vitality,"  said  Chloe,  comfortably. 

And  with  a  contented,  indulgent  laugh  she  picked  up 
her  youngest  boy,  who  clung  to  her  shoulder  in  a  sudden 
access  of  intensity. 


XII 

THE  seventh  of  November  .  .  . 

The  terms  of  the  Armistice  had  gone  to  the  Germans, 
but  no  sane  person  expected  them  to  be  signed  for  a  few 
days  more.  It  was  the  last  lap  of  the  race  ...  we  must 
not  weaken  at  the  finish  .  .  . 

Diantha  was  sitting  in  Edgar's  room  when  the  whistles 
began  to  blow  their  long  triumphant  screams  .  .  .  first  a 
few,  then  more  and  more,  lifting  their  tongues  to  the 
vibrant  sky  .  .  . 

They  looked  at  one  another;  her  hands  flew  to  her 
heart. 

"Mat!"  she  cried.     "Mother!" 

The  clamor  grew,  waves  of  sound  that  soared  and  beat 
against  the  highest  vaults.  One  heard  people  running  in 
the  street. 

"I  must  go  out,"  she  said.     "Are  you  coming?" 

"I  think  I'll  stay  here." 

She  flew  down  Michigan  Avenue.  Except  for  the 
whistles,  there  was  a  silence,  a  silence  of  hearts  .  .  .  And 
when  people  looked  into  each  other's  eyes,  they  saw  tears. 

"Is  it  true?      Is  it  over?" 

No  one  could  tell. 

But  it  must  be  true.  Why  else  these  shining  faces,  this 
awe  .  .  . 

As  she  neared  the  Loop  the  crowd  became  more  dense, 
and  its  tone  changed;  joy  was  becoming  articulate. 
Flags  appeared ;  fantastic  showers  of  paper  danced  down 
from  the  high  windows ;  machines  ran  with  their  cut-outs 
open.  Strangers  shouted  together.  The  streets  were 
blocked  with  mad  humanity,  which  fell  in  behind  any  en- 
308 


THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS  309 

sign  and  paraded  ridiculously,  meeting  and  crossing  other 
little  parades,  singing,  crying,  screaming. 

Suddenly  Diantha  was  seized  by  the  arm.  It  was 
Josie,  and  they  wept  on  each  other's  shoulders,  then  set 
off  at  the  tail  of  a  parade  mad  as  march  hares. 

The  newspaper  wagons  could  not  break  through  with 
their  extra  editions  to  the  newsstands.  The  noise  was 
prodigious, — cow-bells,  tin-pans,  horseshoes, — a  third 
phase. 

Like  disembodied  spirits  the  girls  wandered  tireless 
through  the  crowd,  merging  themselves  in  the  rejoicing  of 
humanity. 

"To  Hell  with  the  Kaiser!"  cried  the  placards.  Di- 
antha was  hurt  that  at  such  an  hour  anyone  should  care 
to  send  even  the  Kaiser  to  Hell. 

But  darkness  began  to  fall,  and  with  it  a  fine  rain ;  and 
the  word  ran  from  lip  to  lip  that  the  celebration  was  pre- 
mature ;  the  Germans  had  not  signed.  The  crowd  drifted 
homeward. 

"They  will  sign,"  said  Edgar. 

"Yes,  they  will  sign.  It  is  over.  I  feel  it  now." 
Diantha  lay  back  in  a  chair,  as  white  and  happy  as  a 
spirit  that  might  have  recently  climbed  the  heart-breaking 
battlements  and  won  to  heaven. 

"And  they've  all  made  good ;  and  they're  safe." 

They  talked  of  Fan  in  the  Rainbow  Division,  and  of 
Herby  in  his  escadrille,  and  of  Mat  still  a  poilu. 

"It  has  been  worth  while  for  them,  Cousin  Edgar. 
And  I  can  say  now  that  even  if  any  of  them  had  been 
killed,  it  would  still  have  been  worth  while." 

"That's  easy  to  say,  dear." 

"I  mean  they  would  have  done  enough  to  make  their 
short  lives  stand  for  something.  But  as  it  is, — with  that 
behind  them, — there's  no  limit  to  what  they  can  do." 

"It's  a  new  world,"  said  Edgar,  rising  to  her  en- 
thusiasm. 


310  THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS 

"I  had  quite  a  wonderful  letter  from  Eddie  the  other 
day,"  she  said  thoughtfully. 

"Poor  boy!" 

"I'm  glad  it  came  just  now,  when  I'm  joyful  and 
tolerant  and  proud  of  America  .  .  .  He  said  he  wanted 
me  to  read  and  understand  just  what  he  had  gone  through 
...  in  his  own  mind  ...  It  was  a  very  moving  letter." 

"Do  you  find  you  can  forgive  him,  Di?" 

"I  can  pity  him — oh,  most  immensely.  He's  been  in 
the  Inferno.  Of  course  you  know  I  shall  never  think  he 
was  right." 

"Just  so  you  admit  he  was  sincere,  I  expect  no  more 
of  you." 

"He  thinks  his  life  is  broken  ...  It  mustn't  be  broken, 
Cousin  Edgar." 

"You  can  help  him  more  with  mending  it  than  anybody, 
my  dear." 

She  lifted  her  chin.  Even  her  dear  Cousin  Edgar  was 
going  rather  far,  if  he  was  suggesting  that  she  might 
marry  a  slacker.  And  yet  there  had  been,  in  Eddie's 
letter  which  she  did  not  offer  to  show  his  father,  phrases 
of  broken  and  despairing  love  that  had  moved  her  in  spite 
of  herself. 


XIII 

"HAVE  you  heard  any  rumors?5* 

Tolman  was  speaking  to  Edgar  over  the  long  distance 
telephone. 

"Rumors?  Dear  man,  I  never  hear  rumors!  You're 
at  the  fountainhead.  What  are  they  about?" 

"This  is  so  serious,  I  wanted  to  warn  you.  You  know 
the  word  often  gets  around  before  the  casualty  lists  come 
out  .  .  ." 

"Well  .  .  ." 

"They're  saying  Mat  Powell's  killed." 

"Why,  he's  with  the  French;  he  wouldn't  be  on  out 
lists."  " 

"The  story's  in  the  air  anyhow.  I  can't  trace  it. 
Don't  let  it  get  to  Diantha  accidentally.  I'm  cabling 
the  Embassy." 

"God,  this  would  be  too  much!"  said  Edgar  softly, 
putting  down  the  receiver. 

It  was,  however,  true,  and  two  weeks  later  the  facts 
were  verified.  On  the  eighth  of  November,  in  a  quiet 
sector,  from  which  the  enemy  were  at  that  moment  in  in- 
conspicuous retreat,  Mat  Powell  who  had  lived  through 
four  years  at  the  front,  finally  fell. 

He  never  knew  the  circumstances  of  his  father's  death. 


311 


XIV 

"FAN'S  trying  to  get  them  to  put  another  parlor-car 
on,"  said  Chloe,  dancing  on  one  foot  and  the  other  to  keep 
warm.  "Does  he  think  he's  Mr.  McAdoo?" 

Diantha  glanced  at  the  hordes  waiting  for  the  gates 
to  open.  The  railroad  service  had  not  expanded  pro- 
portionately to  the  Thanksgiving  rush. 

A  few  feet  away  from  their  mother,  Toly  and  Dubby, 
in  charge  of  a  middle-aged  English  nurse,  clung  to  the 
handles  of  the  suitcases  which  had  recently  been  put  under 
their  protection.  Their  round  little  persons  were  but- 
toned into  chinchilla  coats  and  long  gray  leggings,  their 
faces  sparkled  under  squirrel  caps.  They  were  delicious 
children. 

"Speaking  of  room,  Di,  where  in  the  world  do  you  sup- 
pose Uncle  Edgar  is  going  to  put  us?" 

"Eddie  says  there  are  cots  everywhere,  even  in  the  rooms 
over  the  garage.  The  poor  boy  had  to  come  up  to  town 
at  the  last  minute  for  a  peck  of  cranberries.  Egmont 
was  sold  out." 

"Oh,  of  course  Eddie  will  be  there."  Chloe's  ruddy 
face  seemed  to  harden  for  a  moment.  "I  haven't  seen 
him  since  he — got  back." 

"We  can't  expect  him  to  go  out  of  existence  just  be- 
cause we  disagree  with  him." 

Chloe  laughed.  "I'm  not  going  to  be  rude  to  him;  but 
it  does  make  conversation  so  difficult,  when  you  have  to 
remember  not  to  mention  pacifists,  or  prisons,  or  spies — 

"Eddie  wasn't  a  spy !"  said  Diantha. 

"I  didn't  mean  'spy*.     I  meant  'sympathizer' ' 

"Chloe!  Why  should  you  assume  that  Eddie,  who  was 
312 


THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS  813 

a  dyed-in-the-wool  pacifist,  sympathized  with  the  Germans, 
who  were  the  quintessence  of  militarism?" 

"Don't  scold  me,  Di.  You  know  yourself  the  name 
'pacifist*  and  the  name  'pro-German*  often  mean  the  same 
thing.'* 

"Well,  they  don't  in  Eddie's  case,"  said  Diantha 
crisply,  "and  I  think  we  ought  to  give  him  a  new  deal,  now 
the  war's  over." 

"You've  always  stood  up  for  him,"  said  Chloe,  with  a 
curious  look. 

"Behind  his  back;  never  to  his  face." 

"That  must  be  a  great  comfort  to  Eddie !" 

"Give  him  a  chance,  Chloe.  He  turned  the  wrong 
corner  once,  but  there's  real  material  in  him." 

"I'll  do  my  best  not  to  step  on  his  toes,  Di,  if  he'll  keep 
off  mine." 

"Not  a  prayer,"  said  Fan,  coming  up.  "It's  the  day- 
coach  for  us,  along  with  the  rest  of  the  American  people." 

He  was  a  man  at  whom  people  stared, — handsome, 
healthy,  on  the  road  to  being  imposing,  when  his  weight 
should  have  mounted  twenty  pounds.  He  could  have  gone 
into  any  strange  city  and  cashed  a  check  with  out  ques- 
tion. His  army  experience  had  put  maturity  into  his 
manner,  but  it  had  not  quite  worn  down  the  ingenuousness 
of  his  laugh. 

"Do  you  know  what  this  party  reminds  me  of,  Di? 
Those  Decoration  Day  patriotic  sessions  when  Grand- 
father used  to  assemble  the  lot  of  us  on  the  front  porch, 
and  make  us  a  speech." 

"I  suppose  Cousin  Edgar  inherits  Uncle  Joshua's  taste 
for  family  reunions." 

"It  doesn't  become  an  in-law  to  speak,"  Chloe  put  in, 
"but  I've  always  dreaded  this  sort  of  thing,  assembling 
people  who  never  would  get  together  except  for  the  family 
tie.  So  often  I  feel  a  false  note  in  the  jubilations." 

"There  couldn't  be  a  funnier  party,"  chuckled  Fan, 
"than  Herby  and  the  Mrs.,  and  Christine  and  Luke,  and 
Josie, " 


314  THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS 

"And  you  and  Chloe,"  said  Di. 

"And  Eddie,"  said  Chloe. 

"And  Ad  and  Ernest.  Golly,  what  a  gang!  Uncle 
Edgar's  a  brave  man.  When  are  dad  and  mother  going 
down?" 

"They're  coming  in  the  car  to-morrow  morning.  Jo-Jo 
has  some  suitor  motoring  her  down  this  afternoon." 

"Well!  Here  goes  the  gateman.  Close  in  behind  the 
children,  girls ;  I'll  go  ahead  with  the  tickets.  Ready, 
porter.  Get  a  move  on,  you  young  kids !" 

At  length  they  were  established  in  the  coach,  with  their 
bags  and  hat-boxes  and  hampers,  their  thermos-bottles 
and  golf-clubs,  their  overcoats,  magazines  and  picture- 
books.  The  party  attracted  attention  by  its  air  of 
opulence  and  high  spirits.  Fan,  Chloe  and  Di  sat  to- 
gether in  a  double  seat,  and  in  spite  of  the  crowd,  no 
stranger  presumed  to  take  the  fourth  place. 

Just  as  the  train  started, — "0  Lord!"  said  Fan  under 
his  breath.  Then,  "Hey  there,  Eddie!  Here's  a  place! 
Put  the  turkey  in  the  baggage-car  and  sit  down  with  us." 

Eddie  stopped  in  the  aisle  beside  them,  his  arms  full  of 
bundles.  His  neck  looked  very  long,  his  head  broad,  and 
his  chin  obstinate  in  its  self-conscious  tilt ;  but  he  beamed 
at  them. 

"If  you  are  ashamed  to  be  seen  talking  to  a  man  with  a 
bundle,  say  so  and  I'll  move  on  to  the  smoker." 

"No  army's  too  proud  to  associate  with  its  commis- 
sariat," said  Fan,  moving  over.  Then  he  looked  at  Chloe, 
wondering  whether  he  should  have  mentioned  the  word 
"army"  before  Eddie. 

The  country  was  full  of  gradations  of  gray  and  brown 
and  silver; — a  low-hanging  sky,  strips  of  snow,  the  last 
of  the  dead  leaves. 

"I've  never  seen  Redgate  at  this  season,"  said  Diantha. 

"It's  slick,"  said  Eddie.  "The  fireplace  draws,  and  we 
have  lots  of  wood  in  the  cellar.  Dad's  enjoyed  it  this  fall, 


THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS  S15 

I  think.  Of  course,  he's  staying  there  on  my  account,  to 
shield  me  from  the  regular  world." 

Another  uncomfortable  silence  fell.  Eddie  appeared 
oblivious  of  it  and  fell  to  watching  Diantha  opposite  him. 

She  had  changed  greatly  from  the  rose-and-honey  child 
who  had  formerly  queened  it  at  Redgate.  Dressed  in 
black,  she  looked  transparent,  exhausted,  full  of  distinc- 
tion, but  bereft  of  sparkle  and  fire.  She  had  just  failed 
of  dying  of  the  "flu"  after  Mat's  death,  and  her  forces  were 
still  at  the  ebb.  And  although  ease  of  bearing  had  come 
from  living  in  the  public  eye,  she  had  lost  in  exchange 
the  naivete  which  her  shyness  had  formerly  sheltered. 

"I've  been  hearing  things  about  you,  Di,"  said  Fan. 

"Go  on  and  tell  them;  I've  done  nothing  I'm  ashamed 
of." 

"Well,  I  hear  you're  seen  very  frequently  with  a  certain 
person — " 

"Piffle!"  said  Diantha,  blushing. 

"What  person,  Fan?  You've  kept  this  from  me," 
cried  his  wife. 

"It's  recent,  and  very  authentic,"  Fan  wagged  his  chin 
over  his  collar  several  times.  "Were  you,  or  were  you 
not,  young  woman,  seen  lunching  at  the  club  with  a  one- 
armed  British  major?' 

"Oh,  yes,  him,"  replied  Diantha,  continuing  to  blush. 
"I'm  just  enough  of  a  public  freak  still,  so  that  people 
invite  me  out  to  meet  visiting  celebrities  and  lecturers  and 
things." 

"People,"  said  Fan,  witheringly,  "don't  invite  you  to 
lunch  alone  with  their  celebrities  at  the  club;  they  invite 
you  to  sit  next  them  at  dinners  of  thirty.  Well,  let's  pass 
on  to  another  point ;  were  you,  or  were  you  not  seen  point- 
ing out  the  chief  beauties  of  the  Art  Institute  to  a  one- 
armed  British  Major,  on  the  following  day?" 

"Why,  I  believe  I  did,"  she  admitted,  "but  I  certainly 
shouldn't  have  done  it  if  I'd  known  I  was  being  followed 


816  THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS 

by  a  detective.  It  was — fortuitous.  I  bumped  into  him 
at  the  door,  and  he  asked  me  to  walk  around  with  him.  It 
would  have  been  very  silly  to  refuse." 

"Yes,  purely  fortuitous,  you  say.  Now,  was  it  also 
purely  fortuitous  that  both  you  and  a  one-armed  British 
Major  spent  Sunday  with  the  Parotts  in  Lake  Forest?" 

"I  hadn't  a  notion  he  was  to  be  there!"  cried  Diantha, 
extremely  red.  "That  was  fortuitous,  too." 

"Did  he  ask  you  where  you  were  going  for  the  week- 
end?" 

"Well,  yes." 

"And  I  suppose  you  don't  know  that  Sarah  Parott  is 
telling  all  over  town  that  he  called  up  Mrs.  Parott,  whom 
he'd  never  met,  and  told  her  he  wanted  to  be  asked  too?" 

"That's  the  greatest  nonsense  I've  ever  heard.  Any- 
way, he's  gone  now;  he's  speaking  in  Minneapolis." 

"Successfully?" 

"I  haven't  heard  from  him,"  she  replied,  with  a  rude 
grimace. 

Eddie  fixed  his  eyes  on  her,  and  asked  with  ferocity 
whether  the  one-armed  British  Major  was  nice. 

"Not  half  so  impertinent  as  all  of  you,"  said  Diantha; 
and  forthwith  she  retired  behind  a  newspaper. 

Redgate  was  unfamiliar,  with  the  focus  indoors,  and 
clouds  lying  cold  along  the  horizon.  Edgar  was  in 
twenty  places,  making  speeches  of  welcome,  forming  con- 
versational groups  and  disrupting  them,  showing  guests 
to  their  rooms  or  to  whatever  makeshift  had  been  devised. 
He  had  ordered  a  big  fire  built,  and  had  artlessly  hoped 
to  draw  the  young  men  about  the  hearth  and  let  them  tell 
their  views  of  the  war  and  the  peace. 

To  his  disappointment,  however,  the  party  refused  to 
coalesce,  and  was  soon  cutting  for  bridge-partners  or 
changing  its  boots  preparatory  to  a  tramp ;  and  he  found 
himself  left  to  the  conversational  delights  of  Herby. 


THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS  317 

Remembering  that  in  times  past  Diantha  had  reproved 
him  for  under-estimating  Herby's  character,  he  made  a 
virtue  of  necessity  and  opened  a  conversation.  Herby 
was  quite  willing  to  discuss  airplane  manufacture,  in 
which  he  was  engaged,  and  told  his  cousin,  not  ungrace- 
fully, two  or  three  yarns  of  adventure  six  thousand  feet 
up;  but  when  Edgar  tentatively  turned  the  subject, — 
"Now  about  the  Peace  Treaty," — he  growled. 

"Come  on,  now,  Cousin  Edgar;  finie  la  guerre!" 

"What  did  you  fight  for,  then,  if  the  peace  treaty  bores 
you  so?" 

Herby  blinked.  In  his  eyes  was  a  dazed  and  slightly 
disillusioned  look. 

"They're  all  in  it  for  what  they  can  get  out  of  it.  We're 
left  holding  the  bag.  It  makes  us  look  like  such  poor 
simps,"  he  said. 

Diantha  and  Eddie,  booted  and  muffled  for  their  walk, 
entered  in  time  to  catch  the  trend  of  the  discussion. 
Diantha  leaned  over  the  back  of  Edgar's  chair,  and  af- 
fectionately outlining  with  her  finger  on  his  crown  the  area 
where  tonic  might  well  be  applied  to  the  waning  crop, — 
"Don't  you  mind,"  said  she.  "First  there  was  the 
patriotism  epidemic  and  then  there  was  the  'flu,*  and  now 
there's  a  selfishness  epidemic.  You  can't  judge  their 
normal  temperature  by  the  figure  they  register  when 
they've  got  a  germ.  When  all  the  diseases  are  over,  you'll 
find  they  average  ninety-eight  and  six-tenths." 

"Do  you  like  having  them  waste  themselves?" 

"I  grant  you  we're  none  of  us  good  for  much.  But 
Chloe  says  Fan  is  going  to  be  mayor  of  Chicago  some  day ; 
and  as  she  says  so,  you  may  count  on  it." 

"What's  that?"  asked  Fan  from  the  corner.  ("Three 
spades,  did  you  say?") 

"We're  talking  about  your  future,"  said  Di. 

"I'll  come  and  tell  you  all  about  it  after  this  rubber  .  .  . 
(Three  no  trumps.)" 


318  THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS 

And  silence,  sacred  auction  silence,  might  have  been  en- 
forced for  another  half -hour  had  not  the  snarl  of  a  motor- 
horn  proclaimed  the  arrival  of  Josie. 

"Two  hours  and  forty  minutes  from  the  water-works !" 
she  proclaimed,  entering  arm-in-arm  with  a  stout  juvenile 
escort.  "Here's  the  speed  king, — you  all  know  Pudge, 
don't  you?  He  drove  me  down,  and  he  has  to  get  back 
to  town,  so  I  told  him  you'd  give  him  a  drink,  Uncle 
Edgar.  Is  the  bar  running?  I  feel  uncommonly  like  a 
cocktail  myself." 

"Glad  to  see  you,  Josie.  There's  tea  handy.  Won't 
your  young  friend  stay  to  dinner?" 

"Sorry  I  can't,"  replied  Pudge,  diving  among  his 
pockets.  "Never  mind  the  cocktail,  Mr.  Marriott;  I've 
got  a  flask,  and  Jo's  not  too  proud  to  drink  whiskey." 

Josie  was  quietly  costumed  in  an  orange  duvetine  great- 
coat and  the  beret  of  a  chasseur  alpm,  and  showed  a  Gallic 
extent  of  healthy  ankle  below  her  skirt.  Her  arrival 
threw  one  more  discordant  element  into  the  group,  for 
nobody  there  except  herself  and  Pudge  was  a  member  of 
the  particular  smart  set  they  adorned.  Her  sisters  and 
their  husbands  had  enjoyed  since  the  war  what  Josie 
termed  a  "ghastly  domesticity,"  by  which  she  meant  that 
they  played  bridge  in  the  evening  instead  of  dancing  at 
restaurants.  Fan  and  Chloe  were  "positively  pi";  Herby 
and  Eileen,  socially  speaking,  non-existent.  As  for  the 
war-time  intimacy  with  Diantha,  she  had  put  that  behind 
her  with  everything  else  which  reminded  her  of  her  ill- 
starred  engagement. 

Diantha's  eyes  met  Edgar's  rather  sadly;  but  she  did 
not  know  that  he  was  asking  himself  whether  if  Josie  had 
married  Henry  Todd,  she  could  have  developed  along  any 
more  distressing  lines. 

Josie  was  accustomed  to  thank  her  stars  that  she  had 
been  granted  a  sight  of  Henry  in  civilian  clothes  before 
"It"  was  announced ;  for  a  uniform  had  cast  more  glamor 


THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS  319 

upon  him  than  a  sack-suit  could  maintain.  Her  first 
evening  with  him  after  his  return  had  caused  her  to  loathe 
herself  for  lack  of  discrimination ;  and  in  a  panic  she  had 
struck  down  and  obliterated  both  his  love  and  her  own. 

The  experience  had  been  unfortunate  for  both  of  them. 
Even  though  the  engagement  was  a  matter  of  conjecture, 
Josie's  world  knew  there  had  been  an  affair,  and  she  knew 
that  it  knew.  In  a  half-unconscious  attempt  to  persuade 
public  opinion  that  this  mistake  in  judgment  had  been  a 
trivial  and  casual  one,  she  had — to  use  Addie's  phrase, — 
"set  up  as  a  baby  vampire  in  her  old  age,"  and  collected 
scalps  for  public  display.  Debutantes  did  not  scruple  to 
call  her  a  "cradle  snatcher."  Her  family  saw  well  enough 
that  she  was  on  the  wrong  track,  and  tried  to  interest  her 
in  various  good  works ;  but  she  told  them  she  got  into  her 
stride  at  two  in  the  morning  instead  of  nine. 

And  yet  from  several  balls  last  winter  she  had  gone 
home  hysterical  after  encounters  with  Henry.  He  had 
not  returned  to  Archerville,  and  his  father  thought  he 
stayed  in  Chicago  to  work  in  a  broker's  office ;  but  to  Josie 
it  appeared  that  he  was  taking  a  course  in  post-prohibi- 
tion drinking, — reckless,  ungentlemanly,  quarrelsome 
drinking  that  led  to  scenes  and  scandal.  Josie  professed 
to  wear  the  cynic's  mask,  but  she  was  still  simple  enough 
at  heart  to  miss  her  illusions  when  the  orchestra  played 
a  waltz ;  her  conscience  tormented  her  with  Henry's  fall, 
and  she  threw  her  own  hardness  back  in  the  teeth  of  fate. 

"Can't  you  say  a  word  to  her  some  time?"  Edgar  mur- 
mured to  Diantha. 

"She  can't  bear  to  talk  to  me;  I  remind  her  of  the 
raptures  she  used  to  pour  in  my  ear.  But  don't  take  her 
to  heart,  Cousin  Edgar;  she's  not  cut  out  for  a  wild 
woman.  Mark  my  words,  she'll  be  happily  married  inside 
of  a  year,  to  some  conservative  old  chap  that  her  father 
brings  home  to  dinner." 

"How  about  you,  Di?" 


320  THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS 

"Oh,  Cousin  Edgar,  don't  you  begin  about  that  too ! 
I'm  not  going  to  marry  anybody;  I'm  a  cast-iron  old 
maid  .  .  .  I'm  so  dreadfully  tired  .  .  ."  she  added. 

Looking  at  her,  he  could  see  that  her  forces  were,  for 
the  moment,  spent ;  she  had  no  rebound.  Perhaps,  as  she 
said,  she  was  destined  for  spinsterhood ;  perhaps  in  the 
course  of  years  she  might  marry ; — it  was  reasonably  cer- 
tain that  she  would  not  be  able  to  rise  again  to  the  height 
at  which  she  had  lived  during  the  war.  Meanwhile  Edgar 
thought  of  his  son,  at  odds  with  the  world,  tortured, 
baffled,  loving  her  as  he  had  always  done  but  morbidly 
conscious  of  the  rift  between  them. 

Here  in  the  midst  of  the  flock  to  whom  he  had  given  his 
whole  enthusiasm  for  the  past  fifteen  years,  his  imagina- 
tion suddenly  flagged  and  stopped.  He  loved  the  children, 
perhaps,  more  than  when  they  had  begun  coming  to  him, 
but  they  no  longer  teased  his  sense  of  prophecy.  Their 
lives  were  finite  like  his  own,  limited,  dreary  to  contem- 
plate. Fan  might  indeed  become  a  mayor,  Herby  a 
factory  manager.  Eddie  had  broken  his  interests  in  two, 
and  would  remain  half  a  sculptor  and  half  a  social  re- 
former, wearing  himself  out  without  achieving  any  com- 
plete result.  The  most  generous  hope  one  could  frame 
for  Josie  did  not  make  more  of  her  than  the  wife  of  some 
young  business  man  like  her  sisters'  husbands ;  and  one 
prayed  she  might  elect  this  course  rather  than  continue 
her  uninspired  attempts  at  sin.  Mat  was  gone,  in  one  in- 
tense spurt  of  flame. 

Dear  children !  .  .  .  His  thought  followed  each  one  on 
into  shadowy  years  .  .  .  They  would  live  in  their  world; 
they  would  not  remold  it  nearer  to  the  heart's  desire.  .  . 

A  scampering  was  heard  in  the  hallway,  and  Chloe  ap- 
peared in  the  door,  surrounded,  as  far  as  a  woman  can  be 
surrounded,  by  her  two  hilarious  sons.  Toly  rollicked 
like  a  puppy,  and  little  Dunbar  imitated  his  gambols  with 
frenetic  fervor. 

As  usual,  Edgar  watched  his  favorite ;  and  at  a  certain 


THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS  321 

instant  he  saw  a  change  come  over  the  child  as  the  sunset 
struck  against  his  eyes  from  across  the  valley.  Oblivious 
of  the  cookies  toward  which  Toly  was  cavorting,  he  stood 
squarely  on  his  small  feet,  and  the  tension  slipped  from 
him  as  he  remained  in  entrancement,  seeing  for  the  first 
time  the  ardor  of  the  west,  with  its  core  of  somber  fire. 

"Come  along,  Owl-Eyes!"  laughed  his  mother.  The 
spell  snapped,  and  Dubby  manifested  a  normal  enthusiasm 
for  pink  icing. 

"There's  no  fool  like  an  old  fool,"  Edgar  told  himself, 
stirring  in  his  long  wicker  chair.  "How  young  might  I 
reasonably  expect  Chloe  would  let  him  make  me  a  visit? 
It's  all  a  question  of  catching  them  early  enough  ..." 

Over  the  disappearing  cake  he  could  watch  Dubby  gaz- 
ing at  one  after  another  of  his  marvelous  large  aunts, 
uncles  and  cousins.  And  the  child's  eyes  were  the  very 
eyes,  blue,  innocent  and  strange,  of  Joshua  Marriott. 


XV 

FINALLY,  after  dinner,  the  host  did  succeed  in  forming 
one  circle  and  making  them  talk.  For  the  first  few 
minutes  a  stiff  patience  with  Edgar's  hobby  was  to  be 
felt;  but  before  long  the  old  Redgate  established  its  grip 
on  the  remembrance  of  its  votaries  and  they  discussed  and 
contradicted  freely,  even  forgetting  Eddie  enough  to  make 
jokes  about  the  war  and  to  fight  it  over  again. 

The  reluctance  to  talk  about  the  future  still  obtained, 
however. 

"It  takes  a  brave  man  to  tell  his  plans  these  days," 
was  Fan's  answer  to  a  direct  question.  "If  you  mean 
what  am  I  going  to  do  to  make  the  world  better  and 
brighter, — the  stuff  we  talked  at  Grenoble, — I've  seen  a 
lot  more  since  then,  and  I'm  not  so  sure  the  world 
is  worth  bothering  with,  or  thanks  you  for  any  trouble 
you  take.  Look  at  Wilson." 

"Looking  at  Wilson"  provoked  the  usual  combat;  but 
after  it  had  to  some  degree  spent  its  fury,  Eddie  was 
heard  to  say  that  the  world  needed  good  advice  and  good 
example  a  thousand  times  worse  than  in  1912,  and  that 
for  his  part  he  held  it  every  citizen's  duty  to  live  accord- 
ing to  the  most  searching  dictates  of  his  conscience. 

All  the  eyes  came  around  to  Eddie.  His  cousins  had 
admitted,  severally,  that  he  had  been  imprisoned  for  the 
rigor  of  his  peculiar  moral  views  rather  than  for  obliquity 
of  conduct ;  but  they  had  none  the  less  felt  ashamed  to 
acknowledge  him  and  had  subconsciously  assumed  that  he 
would  cringe  like  a  convicted  felon  in  decent  society. 
Here  he  was,  however,  far  from  cringing,  holding  up  his 
chin  at  a  ridiculous  angle,  and  laying  down  ethical  pre- 
322 


THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS  323 

cepts  forsooth !  They  had  been  scrupulously  civil,  but  this 
was  almost  too  much! 

"What  do  you  recommend?"  Josie  asked  him. 

"I  can't  recommend  to  the  rest  of  you,  but  if  you're  in- 
terested I  can  tell  you  what  I  mean  to  do  myself," — and 
without  waiting  for  encouragement,  he  went  out.  "I'm 
going  to  live  in  some  foreign  community  on  the  west  side, 
and  carry  on  my  sculpture,  and  run  a  children's  art  school 
where  I  mean  to  teach  them  the  principles  this  country 
ought  to  stand  for." 

"Teach  them — Bolshevism!"  said  Luke  Herron,  ex- 
plosively. 

"A  bit  thick,"  Herby  was  heard  to  murmur. 

Chloe  developed  unusual  fire.  "You've  no  right,  Eddie. 
Just  because  you  think  you've  been  unjustly  treated,  is  it 
fair  to  teach  susceptible  children  things  that  will  get  them 
into  the  same  sort  of  scrapes?" 

"What  things  do  you  think  I  expect  to  teach  them?" 
demanded  Eddie. 

"  'Red  Rag'  sort  of  things,  undoubtedly." 

"You  know,  Eddie,  everybody  would  respect  you  more, 
if  you  took  your  medicine  like  a  man,  instead  of  setting 
up  in  business  as  an  agitator."  Thus,  Fan, — kindly,  with 
a  touch  of  the  judicial. 

"Of  course,  the  Department  of  Justice  will  be  at  your 
heels  .  .  ."  said  Ernest  Conrad. 

"Have  you  had  unpleasant  experience  with  them, 
Ernest?"  Eddie  sneered.  Rising,  he  surveyed  the  circle  of 
his  family  with  a  look  which  tautened  their  nerves,  and 
then  walked  out  of  the  room. 

"It's  people  like  you  that  make  Bolshevists,"  said 
Diantha  from  the  corner;  and  those  who  had  heard  her 
address  crowds  recognized  the  violin  timbre  that  came  into 
her  voice  with  excitement.  "Hit  him  when  he's  down ;  mis- 
judge him;  suspect  his  motives;  tell  him  he's  a  fool;  call 
him  a  criminal ;  make  it  plain  that  he  has  no  right  to  exist. 
But  don't  ask  him  what  he  really  means,  or  try  to  under- 


324  THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS 

stand  his  point  of  view ;  don't  help  him  to  do  better ;  don't 
give  him  credit  for  any  brains  or  any  experience  or  any 
growth " 

She  stumbled  over  her  words.  The  room  was  deathly 
still. 

"You've  cut  yourselves  off  from  helping  him,  now,  with 
your  Godlike  wisdom,"  she  resumed.  "If  you  see  him 
going  to  the  devil  you  won't  have  an  ounce  of  influence  to 
stop  him  with.  Pull  your  skirts  around  you,  don't  touch 
him;  he's  a  jailbird!  .  .  . 

"As  it  happens,  I  had  a  long  walk  with  Eddie  this  after- 
noon, and  he  told  me  what  came  to  him  while  he  was  in 
prison  .  .  .  New  ideas  .  .  .  Very  lovely  ones  .  .  .  He's 
on  the  verge  of  a  change, — if  you  haven't  driven  him  back 
into  his  old  sullenness  and  hatred  of  things.  He  doesn't 
want  to  teach  force  and  fraud  and  rancor, — he  doesn't 
even  want  to  teach  economics.  He's  trying  to  get  rid  of 
his  own  pugnacity.  He  emphasizes  three  things, — no,  it's 
just  one  thing;  it's  his  notion  of  pure  Christianity. 
There's  no  physical  force  in  it, — it's  something  like  Tol- 
stoi, good  over  evil,  non-resistance,  you  know, — and  a 
square  deal  for  the  under  dog,  coming  voluntarily  through 
the  good-will  of  the  upper  dog  .  .  .  and  eliminating  mis- 
understanding and  class-hatred  .  .  . 

"You're  blind,  beastly,  cruel,  well-fed  .  .  ." 

No  one  supplied  a  word.  No  one  felt  competent  to 
speak. 

"I  can  see  perfectly  clearly,"  said  Diantha,  "that  I've 
got  to  marry  Eddie."  And  with  this  she  left  them. 

In  his  room  she  found  two  cribs,  and  the  English  nurse, 
darkly  illumined  by  a  night-light,  who  straightened  her- 
self from  bending  over  Dubby,  when  Diantha  appeared. 

"Where's  Mr.  Eddie?" 

"I  believe  he's  moved  into  Mr.  Marriott's  room, 
Miss." 


THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS  325 

As  the  door  closed  again,  Nurse  wondered  whether 
perhaps  Miss  Diantha  was  trying  to  deliver  Mr.  Eddie  a 
telegram.  She  seemed  excited. 

Edgar's  room,  too,  was.  dim,  and  she  watched  him  a 
minute  before  he  saw  her.  He  was  throwing  socks  and 
collars  into  his  suitcase.  She  had  hoped  to  catch  her 
breath,  but  the  sight  of  him  complicated  her  respiratory 
machine  yet  further,  and  she  had  a  sick  feeling  of  fright 
as  though  she  found  herself  launched  on  a  runaway  horse. 

He  turned  and  saw  her,  and  flung  out  his  arm. 

"Don't  bother  me,  Di,  I'm  busy." 

(They  had  treated  him  infamously,  she  thought;  and 
that  gave  her  courage.) 

"I  want  you  to  stay  and  stick  it  out." 

"That  sounds  well ;  but  I'm  not  granite,  I  get  angry  .  .  . 
Don't  you  see,  my  sanity  just  now  depends  on  believing 
that  people  are  willing  to  be  good ;  and  if  I'm  going  to  be- 
lieve in  my  family,"  he  growled,  "the  more  miles  there  are 
between  them  and  me  the  better." 

"Try  them  again.  They're  probably  ashamed  by 
now." 

"Oh,  you  think  so?    /  don't." 

"I've  been  telling  them  why  they  ought  to  be." 

His  face  lightened  with  tenderness.  "You  stand  by  me 
even  when  you  don't  believe  in  me,  don't  you?  I  don't 
ask  you  to  do  that,  Di ;  it's  too  much." 

"I  always  stand  by  you  because  we're  such  friends, 
Eddie;  but  this  time  it's  because  I  believe  in  you  too." 

"That,"  he  said  slowly,  "gives  me  enough  to  hold  on  by. 
I  don't  need  the  rest." 

"But  if  I  back  you  up,  you  witt  stay?  Think!"  she 
coaxed.  "They're  your  first  subjects  to  be  won  over." 

"That  wouldn't  be  a  good  way  to  go  at  it." 

"Why  not?"  She  was  throwing  herself  into  her  per- 
suasions. He  must  not  cut  himself  off  from  his  race 


326  THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS 

when  he  needed  them  most.  He  must  stay;  nothing 
seemed  of  any  importance  to  her  except  that  he  should 
stay  at  Redgate  till  the  first  storm  had  passed. 

"You  ought  to  be  able  to  see,  Di.  I've  got  to  stand  by 
myself,  not  use  you  for  a  crutch.  There's  a  time  coming 

when  I'll  have  to  be  able  to  stand  without  you. "  he 

shrugged. 

"That  time  won't  ever  come,  Eddie." 

"Don't  make  rash  promises !"  he  cried.  "You're  the 
most  generous  person  there  is,  but  some  time  you'll  want 
every  atom  of  your  soul  to  give  to  some  one  man,  and 
then  you'll  be  bound  to  take  my  share  away  from  me. 
I'd  rather  get  along  without  you  now  than  go  through 
that  later." 

She  had  stopped  trying  to  understand  herself  this 
evening.  What  was  this  excitement  that  was  overmaster- 
ing her, — love?  It  was  not  the  love  she  had  known;  but 
then  she  was  hardly  feeling  at  all,  in  the  accepted  sense; 
when  she  looked  at  him  she  vibrated  from  head  to  foot, 
like  a  harp  blown  upon  by  strange  winds,  with  pity,  with 
exaltation,  and  with  terror.  Flashes  of  the  future  crossed 
her  vision,  and  she  knew  it  was  inevitable  that  she  should 
be  beside  him,  in  whatever  fantastic  urgent  scenes  he 
might  play  his  part.  For  this  she  had  been  born. 

"Eddie,"  she  said,  "I  want  to  marry  you." 

He  stared  at  her.  "Thank  you,  I'm  not  that  much  of  a 
charity  patient.  If  you  don't  mind,  I'd  rather  you  didn't 
talk  like  that." 

("What  an  improbable  dialogue!"  she  thought,  in  some 
stable  corner  of  her  brain.)  "Do  you  think  I'd  ask  you 

to  marry  me  if  I  didn't "  there  was  a  difficult  pause, 

— "love  you?" 

(  Yes!  Now  that  the  word  was  spoken,  it  satisfied  her, 
and  she  knew  she  had  loved  him  a  long  time.) 

"Tell  me!"  he  held  her  with  his  eyes,  "What  are  you 
giving  up  when  you  say  this?  I  thought  they  talked  as  if 
you  were  engaged." 


THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS  327 

"Don't  you  know  nonsense  when  you  hear  it?  ... 
Everything  ahead  looks  perfectly  blank  to  me,  except  you. 
I've  been  living  in  the  past  .  .  .  You  can  make  something 
out  of  me.  .  .  ." 

"I'm  not  such  a  hound  as  to  take  you  at  your  word. 
You're  upset  by  that  row  dowstairs.  .  .  .  Let's  talk 
about  it  in  the  morning." 

"Must  I  beg  you  to  love  me?" 

"Diantha,  you  know  perfectly  well  I  love  you." 

"Then  there's  no  question  at  all." 

"I  won't  hear  of  it,"  he  said,  going  back  to  the  suit- 
case. 

All  at  once  she  was  aghast  at  what  she  had  tried,  and 
failed,  to  do.  In  three  panic-stricken  steps  she  found  the 
door,  felt  for  the  handle.  But  there  was  a  miserable 
pause  while  she  fumbled. 

"Nobody  but  you  would  have  thought  of  being  so 
darling,"  he  said,  heavily.  "Thank  you  a  million  times." 

"Are  you  going?"  she  whispered.     "After  all?" 

"Good  heavens,  I've  got  to  go  now;  I  can't  stand  it." 

In  the  same  whisper  she  said,  "Isn't  everything  hor- 
rible?" 

He  whirled,  and  came  to  her.  "You  know  I'd  give  my 
soul  to  marry  you,  if  I  had  a  different  record,  and  if  I 
thought  you  honestly  loved  me  ...  (That  isn't  pos- 
sible) .  .  .  You  mustn't  let  this  really  hurt  you." 

"I  can't  help  it,"  she  answered,  on  a  thread  of  voice. 
"You  don't  understand.  I  did  really  care." 

Ske  caught  one  glimpse  on  his  face  of  pure  amazement 
before  she  buried  her  terror,  her  shame  and  her  exulta- 
tion in  the  angle  of  his  shoulder. 

In  the  living-room  Diantha's  outburst,  and  especially 
her  final  jest,  had  seemed  rather  poor  taste;  and  an  awk- 
ward half-hour  having  elapsed,  the  bed-time  break  was 
imminent,  when  a  voice  floated  over  the  banisters, — and 
such  a  lilting  voice  as  could  command  belief. 


328  THE  MARRIOTTS  AND  THE  POWELLS 

"It's  att  settled,  Cousm  Edgar!'* 

At  once  the  crowd  crashed  to  their  feet,  pouring 
toward  the  stairs  to  meet  and  make  merry  over  this  bizarre 
couple.  The  hubbub  swelled,  waned,  waxed  again,  before 
it  died;  but  Edgar  did  not  join  it.  He  sat  in  his  long 
chair,  and  congratulated  himself  on  this  his  last  and 
most  signal  failure  in  the  field  of  prophecy. 

Then  they  came  to  him,  and  he  gave  them  each  a  hand, 
and  while  they  stood  in  a  circle,  he  thanked  God,  in  a 
flash,  for  being  so  resourceful  a  competitor  at  chess. 

"This  is  the  biggest  escapade  yet !"  he  said  to  Diantha. 

"No,  it  isn't,"  she  answered;  and  turning  toward 
Eddie's  transfigured  countenance,  she  spoke  directly  to 
his  eyes.  "It's  nothing  wild  or  sudden  or  daring  or 
dangerous ;  it's  something  that's  always  been,  if  I'd  only 
known  it ;  and  now  I've  found  out,  it's  the  most  heavenly 
peace." 


;  SOUTHERN  REGION/ 


A     000030193     7 


